Friday morning, a screw fell to the floor when I opened my front door to leave the house. Saturday morning, I sent a couple of texts. Hours later, a person came over and took some measurements. Long story short: My new front door will be ready for installation in about four weeks.
Meanwhile, the door person will come back on Monday to fabricate a temporary fix on the door frame, enabling me to not only close the front door, but to lock it, too! Brilliant!
Because currently, the door doesn’t close. It can’t, because there’s nothing on the door frame to hold it in. The door frame is cracked and warped and crumbling. The part where the locks would bolt to hold the door shut look like they’ve been chewed up by rats. The screw fell out because the thread by which it’d been hanging finally broke.
So I’ve got dumbbells to equal 150 lbs (all I have in the house… there are more in the garage) strategically placed to keep the door closed and to make a potential intruder work for it at least a little. Thank the divine for the security screen door on the outside!
I guess these shenanegans make for good practice, right? After this, I’ll be a seasoned pro when it comes to shoring up for the ol’ zombie apocalypse.
Speaking of zombies, let’s talk about corpses. Exquisite corpses, that is. The exquisite corpse! A collection of lines of poetry, each one written by a stranger. It was February – Valentine’s Day, to be precise – the last time I posted a Missed Connections Exquisite Corpse poem. The people writing in Missed Connections these days have not let me down. I love the way the subject lines work together! There are 21 lines in this poem, meaning that it was written by 21 strangers who had no idea that they were writing poetry when they filled in those subject lines.
[On a technical note: I’ll sometimes add punctuation as I arrange the Missed Connections subject lines. This time, I did not. No punctuation.]
Without further ado, then:
Missed Connections Exquisite Corpse, 11
I enjoyed our conversation
Girl with the pinecone necklace
Green top, black leggings, brown dog
Metaphysical section at Barnes & Noble
The Nonfiction Section
From a wise human being to another
your energy is beautiful
My Daytime Goddess
when I left your dog followed me
We vibed to your music
I should have told you I loved you
I’m always looking for you
Years not months
Walking down the highway
Waiting for the rail
With that, I wish you all well! Until we meet again, my friends.