The Best Things in Life Are Tasty

I have learned that life is too short to be taken seriously.
So I'm going to stop writing Woes-of-Me.
(I am sure I'll forget this and flee to the keyboard as soon as that Darn Summer Depression hits again, but Whatev. I'm down with this right now.) (Yo.)

Hey! It's been a long time since I mentioned The Pretty, and let me reassure you that he is still as Pretty as he ever was.

The only difference now is that he has a wholelotta new roommates sharing The Pretty House (read: Every actor from Band of Brothers except Cobb.) (And Sobel.) (They are not love 't all.).

Woohoo! Now it is 12:Twenty-Five AM! One and half hours left and this staying up 'til ungodly morning hours will become habitual.

I think I am done for tonight, though. I had High Ambitions of finishing a book about the Trials and Tribulations of the Japanese-Americans of World War Two, but I am sick of issues. Can't people get a grip on some good bread and maybe a little wine (if you are into that sort of thing.) (Which I know everyone secretly wishes they were, if they aren't.) (I know I certainly do.) (Because wine is just COOL, all right?) and just enjoy the nicer sides of life? Because Lord knows the worst sides are presented far too often.

Anyway. This is way too serious (see? Didn't even take ten minutes.) so I am going to sleep now.

Oh. And in case you ignored that link on Lewis's name in my last post, here is the actual poem (you lazy bum, you).

I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
The murmuring boughs between.

A hollow cup above the ocean placed
Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
But woodland light and shadow interlaced
And summer sky and sea.

There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
Unto my lonely god:

Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
Round which through all forgotten days and hours
The great seas wove their spell.

So may he send me dreams of dear delight
And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
To hear the falling rain.

And when he meets me at the dusk of day
To call me home for ever, this I ask-
That he may lead me friendly on that way
And wear no frightful mask.