Babies with leukemia

We just got a letter on the door announcing that for the first time ever, a baby has been born in Utah with leukemia. Her parents have one of those we-only-pay-60% insurance policies, and apparently treating a baby with leukemia costs half a bazillion dollars (actually $250,000-$500,000, which is pretty much the same thing). So the apartment complex is going to be having a big raffle to try and raise money to help pay the poor little gal's hospital bills. I'm trying to decide if I can afford to donate anything.

Personally, I have one of those plans with a huge deductible and then 100% payout, just in case one of my kids is ever born with leukemia. This is a little silly of me, since I am single and therefore childless, but even so. I'd also like to observe that medical care in this country is stupid expensive.

In other news, I have no news. At least nothing I feel like posting in public. That's pretty much everything. Have a fantastic sort of day thingy, beloved readers (all zero of you).

Wherefore bloggest thou?

Wherefore is a very old way of saying "why." Juliet, in the infamous balcony scene, says "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet." -- you see, she's complaining about the fact that Romeo is a member of the wrong family, not wondering on his location. Just explainin' my title, in case anyone actually reads this thing (which, judging from the number of comments, is an unlikely proposition at best).

So I suppose the reason that I'm blogging is that everyone's doing it. I'm something of an instinctual non-conformist, but have been trying to reform and do things the same way as everyone else. It hasn't worked out too well yet, but anything is progress. I'm also vaguely aware that it probably does good things to the chunk of my brain responsible for writing things.

I could stick up more poetry, but I don't hate you that much. I do hate you a great deal, but I'll try to suppress it. Have a lovely, happy, sunshiney day.

Dull razor-blades are the most dangerous kind

I haven't really been in the mood to write lengthy essays on topics philosophical, and telling the unwashed masses (that's you, dear reader) about my personal life strikes me as somehow lame. So instead you get random poetry. I suggest you imagine this as me giving vent to my inner goth, though that would be completely the wrong idea.

I'm on the road to nowhere --
She's a dry and dusty trail.
The snakes are sleeping, hiding
from the morning's wintry gale.
My shack is cold and empty,
The fields dark and gray;
I searched the grass all morning
But gave up and left midday.

The lightning kissed the mountains,
Shafts of red dust traced its path.
Dry thunder called the rainclouds
To quench the noonday wrath.
It rushed along the gutters
Washing dust from swollen feet.
I was hiding in the shadows
to escape the summer's heat.

The siren voices squealing:
Shafts of light and shadow call.
The rose and shattered gleaming
Throws grim patterns on the wall.
Pale blue voices darkly whisper
An ecstatic, frenzied wish --
The snakes of summer hissing
Warn of poison's sweet death kiss.

The road grows ever wider
Her end yet hides, unclear.
The sun grows ever brighter
Beaming blinding rays of fear.
To dusk and all her thunder and
black night with all her drums,
Defiantly I chant, that joy
will in the morning come.

Let me be clear that it's not about very much. I was in a bad mood at the time, though, so I guess you can say it's about being in a bad mood. Enjoy.