lovers and fighters

Won't you write me a poem? You have a poet's glasses, and a poet's soul / you probably like to get wild after work, I see that gleam in your eye, maybe I'll see you in the stacks sometime / 
 don't tell my wife but have a peppermint on me and your friend is cute, but oh I was just kidding"

and so on and so forth. Is it the full moon or gibbous or did everyone get beat with the stupid stick the past couple days because the amount of wtfs muttered under my breath has been extraordinarily high. Must be all that red 40 and high fructose corn syrup that makes you gibber dumbly or just stand there or say things that are just so absurd. I'm told that The Kids have been fighting more than usual and whether it's out of misguided chivalry or some other result of testosterone, has yet to be decided.

Yours truly might have a gleam in her eye and it's true that I have a life outside work, but I drove home, bought some groceries, and passed out on the couch ostensibly for an old lady nap that inevitably turned into a good night's sleep. I haven't heard the new album yet, but this is beautiful for the chilling and I only woke up to turn the light off, turn the stereo off so as not to disturb the neighbors after 10 pm, to wake up this morning feeling a little more alive.