Cherry Pop-Tarts

Here I am again. Back on my porch, streetlight beamed and trying to sort out my insomnia. Sleeplessness isn't as easy as playing cards. I'm trying to decide how much sleep I need to do what, what going to the gym at 5 a.m. actually means to me, and if I'm going to gain 3 pounds from the package of Cherry Pop-Tarts I devoured this afternoon. Heavy stuff for a Thursday night, right?

But on the subject of Cherry Pop-Tarts. They were there. Glistening in their bright blue wrapper, taunting me from the other side of the glass. Before I could know what I was doing, I slipped in the crinkled dollar bill and hit F5. Is it sad that I can recall the actual code? See, at our place of work, Cherry Pop-Tarts are a rarity. Of course, there are always the obligatory Brown Sugar Whatevers and the Strawberry Frosted, but Cherry is like the diamond of the group; alas, it was the last one. Behind it, more Strawberry. This is important, because in that moment, I felt like they were made for me, that there was a reason I even stepped up to the vending machine that I'm pretty good at avoiding.

Now, there is a professor I had once, a poet, and she did a remarkable job portraying the Cherry Pop-Tart—a sort of vulnerability. And overly-romanticized (by me) or not, the treat itself is worthy of an awesome poem.

As it stands, there is more to worry about than Pop-Tarts at this hour, but I'm fixated and that's what I do (instead of analyze Real Issues.)

My first day of teaching is coming up here on Tuesday. I've spent a few hours babbling to myself in the car on various short drives, so I feel like I'm ready for the big leagues. Hahaha... really. I've thought about holding a phone to my ear, but felt that would really taint the whole experience.

Happy Friday (early) and Weekend. I get to see my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew tomorrow. So I'm on top of the world, you know? (:

xx
mpt

Just bee.

Well, if you haven't heard... I'll be Professor Chicken by the end of this month. Ok. I'm teaching one class at the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg. (From where I graduated about... ugh... 4 years ago.) Wow. Anyhow, it has me working some serious tail feathers, along with my arty art projects and cooking and sweating (the humidity this way has been obnoxious) and and and still trying to keep up any sort of motivation to do normal things like grocery shop, clean Mr. Winston's cage, or sleep. Summer-induced insomnia. Nice.

But fall is coming! Are you pumped? It's my favorite, even if it is cliche. These last few days, the air just feels like fall, you know? To me, it is so much more fresh than spring. Spring is mud and melted snow and rain and mud. And while Tash finds it depressing, the upcoming leaf-falling season gives me this strange feeling in my tummy—like butterflies with dumbbells tied to their wings. And THEN this whole montage of flashbacks (haunted houses, sipping cider, carving pumpkins, etc.) plays in my head with the reflective yet raspy backdrop of "It's a Wonderful World." Ha. It's not that serious, maybe, but it is that corny.

I took this little snap when Tash and I went to visit Amy in Lancaster (Lan-cus-ter: she'll beat you if you don't say it right). We were hiking somewhere crazy (up RT 81, I believe)... and the whole forest floor was covered like this. It was like a dream...

Speaking of dream. That's one huge pumpkin. Note the text on the little white one (and squash). Totally didn't see that.

What's your favorite season? I find Winter-lovers interesting. I like Winter... for like a second. 

Ahhh... I better crash.

mpt