You can't go forcing something if it's just not right...

Sunday morning.

I have the urge to reference Timmy's blog, because I knew what kind of day it'd be before I even opened my eyes. I think we decided last night that it's alright to alluded to each other's respective good lines. We had to dig to write them, we'd love you to repeat your favorites.

So it's sounds that get me out of bed...because I never want to miss anything. This morning I didn't hear my mother already blow drying her hair, or my father cooking some ridiculous omelet concoction. I didn't hear my brother singing Christina Aguilera in the shower. And I didn't hear SportsCenter blasting over all of that. But I did hear Ashley flipping through her gossip magazine, and Craig flipping between Last Comic Standing and Top 10 Greatest Dallas Cowboys. I smiled and got up, too hungry to stay under the covers anyways.

"Good morning, Family." I joked, instantly thinking of my other 2 families. The one upstate who are definitely drying, cooking, and singing as mentioned, and the one that doesn't wake up before noon and who will let me know they're awake by tweeting 7 times in a half hour. I love them both dearly. This new Sunday morning group is different for me, and it's probably something I'm going to have to get used to starting next weekend. Starting Saturday the rules are going to have to change.

The smells of Sunday interest me too. Bread in the toaster makes my stomach think it's getting Dad's...innovative...breakfast set in front of me. But it settles for this toast and iced coffee from my favorite DD worker. She's adorable, I want to win the lottery just so I can tip her more. New traditions. As my eyes get ready for the day, I see this mornings past, present, and future. Past; evidence of last night in my phone and on my nightstand. Texts for the heart and water for the throat. Present; pretty soon Emily comes down and curls back up on Craig's stomach. She looks like a cat but this morning it doesn't bother me. Future; my dresser is STILL in a box in the middle of my bedroom floor.


I glare out the window at passing cars like my mother does. "Who the HELL is that?" I wonder what she'd say about this poem I can't seem to be happy with. She'd say, you better get that done today because I'm sick of your attitude. I'm going to the store, have it done when I get back. And for heavens sake, pick up your room Erica!

But this is a new Sunday. And last night I wasn't sitting in the woods with Luke D'Imperio around a campfire we built outta his daddy's old bed frame. So this morning I let my poem marinate in the frustration zone a little longer. I'll finish this iced coffee (it's the best when that adorable DD worker puts the sugar on the top not the bottom) and get in the shower since last night I only took half of one cuz I got bored as soon as my feet smelled better. And then I'll write out these unsatisfying stanzas to play with during my...less than awesome close at work. Ugh new Sundays.

Last night Timmy let himself in the house and stayed until 2:30am. Yes, we talked about all of you as you slept and finally stopped tweeting. 140 characters is so not enough for what we have to say. So keep coming back to this archaic social networking site where you actually have to think about what we're putting out there for you. And please, leave us some comments!


Poem post: TBA







...Ricky.
"When I Come Around" by: my favorites.