Monday Morning Blues

I'm seriously under my quota...

For all those who are under quota, I have plenty to share around.




Have a great day

Frederic

We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth.
Virginia Satir

When I first heard this quote I determined mathematically that I'd been dead for several years already , and yet I breathed. So I wondered at the time if perhaps I might redefine this for myself from "hugs" to "instances of human contact." During the half-years I've spent in London, I've been isolated enough from humanity to have to include in that category emails and IMs from friends and family, answers to my forum posts and "Next!" from the clerks at Tesco, and still not attain the "growth" level. Hey, does that mean I'm not aging? Cool!:cool:

Physical contact is good, provided it's someone I want to have contact with. People who insist on hugging me when they don't know if it's welcome tend to get slotted into my "avoid" column pretty quickly. Does that mean I'm secretly British? Possibly.

Once instance of human contact that I welcome on nearly every occasion is a smile. I like to pass those out liberally, as well. And they're good for times when a hug just won't do.

Thanks, Frederic - I'll treasure it!

Awwww THANKIES!!!!! That was Wonderful!!! Even Virtually!!!

And some MORE for good measure...

Feel free to use the same hug over and over.

By the way, does hugging yourself count? In yoga practice, we do a stretch near the beginning that is an awful lot like hugging yourself.

Phil

Wrote this a few years back... it's a monday morning poem!

A Poem Just for You

One Monday morning, I sat
on concrete steps
In army coat and woolly hat
And wrote these words, for you
It’s true [You know it’s true.]
I don’t know who you are
where you live, how old, what sex, whatever, no matter
none of that is relevant, because,
I’m not here to flatter.

*

I’m just a Monday morning poet
dispensing words into the time stream
hoping one day they’ll float past you
And you’ll casually pluck them out
And look at them
with wonder
And look at them
and ponder
And look at them
and wonder:
“What the hell’s he on about?”

*

And maybe you’ll like them
And maybe you won’t
And really whether you do
– or don’t –
Is not the point.
You may let them go, on downstream
like so much floating rubbish – or logs
Or cherish them in your heart and dream
of a little poet sitting on a step
with his dog
On a Monday morning
Somewhere far upstream
who having nothing better to do
wrote all of this
Just for you.


Nigel Adams ©[J 28.07.03

Nigel, I love the poem. It's lovely and mellow, and sweet! Thank you!

Phil