Conic Brain Syndrome

It’s been a busy few days with a visiting niece. We each had a massage, which only proves that it’s only when you have those ‘out of the body’ experiences of aches and pains relieved that you realise how little one is actually in your body. You just ignore them and scrunch up some more. Suzanne did excellent work on my neck and shoulders and keyboard arm. But wow! We came back with the appetites of ravenous wolves and slept long and deep ever since. I even needed to nap after the excellent Network for Enterprising Women event in Enniskillen yesterday (also an excellent lunch at the Lough Erne Golf resort afterwards with both the niece and a good friend. Ladies who lunch prefer dessert – bread and butter pudding for me and chocolate tart with Yellowman icecream for my companions. ) Nuala McKeever, a Belfast comedienne, gave a really inspiring keynote speech – tenderly observational, hysterically funny, and sometimes downright moving – all rolled into one speech. Self-employment is a rich vein to quarry for life lessons and laughs. Catch her live shows coming up.

But back to the deep sleeps and the unusual for me afternoon nap. (My dear husband swears by them. He is the healthiest, most flexible human speciman of almost 69 years I know. Please note. This man could nap for Ireland. Although he calls it Yoga Nidra. It still looks like a nap to me.)

I am not the sort of person who emerges from sleep bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I am bewildered. Actually, I could audition for Day of the Zombies unless we maintain rigid laboratory conditions for my emergence into the day. Otherwise, I am just an object of amusement for my family. Sometimes words don’t come out right because I am still in the Land of Nod.

Today’s poem is a riff on one of those verbal misses, when consonants got jumbled and twizzled. Today’s poetry practice is just sheer whimsy. Also a little happy tour down Memory Lane from my college years where we were glued to NBC to watch Saturday Night Live before it got branded as SNL.

Conic Brain Syndrome

This is likely to affllict
a wild and crazy guy
(like Steve Martin)
from New York
who really only comes alive
on Saturday Night
with a double date
(Gilda Radnor and Jane Curtin
on each arm maybe)
at a Blues Brothers gig
the Sunday Morning after
the Saturday Night before.

Featured Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash

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