Don’t we all love a man in a perfectly fitted pair of jeans? I’m my opinion, what makes it even better is if he has hair on his chest. There is just something so masculine about a shirtless guy with a hairy chest in a pair of tight fitting jeans.
Dolly Parton once sang, “Why’d you come in here lookin’ like that / In your high heel boots and your painted on jeans / All decked out like a cowboy’s dream.” Ok, so she actually sang “cowgirl’s dream” but I like my version better.😂
While this bedroom is not my style, I find it quite interesting, especially the handsome man on the bed. (I love nice tanlines.)
First, I want to thank everyone for their kind words yesterday about my depression. I know it will get better. My depression tends to go in waves with highs and lows. All of you will never know how much it means to me that you care enough to read my daily musings and ramblings. ❤️
Today begins five days of not needing to go anywhere. I’m working from home today and Tuesday, but at least I don’t have to go to the museum, though I have a lot of work to do today, but it’s work that I enjoy. I’m preparing for a class I’ll be teaching in a few weeks. I love getting bogged down creating a PowerPoint presentation. Some people may find that boring, but I always find it to be a lot of fun.
And while I don’t have to go anywhere for the next five days, I am planning to go to the grocery store first thing this morning, so I can beat the crowds I expect stores to have over the holiday weekend. I also hope that I can get out and enjoy some of the beautiful weather we are expecting today through Sunday. Our forecast calls for sunny weather with highs in the low 70s, which I consider perfect weather. Next week won’t be as nice with rain every day and highs in the low 60s. The temperature I don’t mind, and while I like rain when I don’t need to leave my apartment, I don’t like it when I have to get out in it.
While Memorial Day is a holiday only in the United States, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend and nice weather that you too can enjoy.
You’ll probably be able to tell very quickly from this post that I don’t have a lot to say today. It’s been kind of a boring week. That being said, Vermont is beautiful this time of year. Most of the trees have their leaves back, and those that don’t are full of budding green. There’s even some flowers beginning to bloom. While Autumn is my favorite time in Vermont because of the leaves changing color, it’s always nice to see green return to the Green Mountains after a barren winter covered in snow.
Interim
By Clarissa Scott Delany
The night was made for rest and sleep,
For winds that softly sigh;
It was not made for grief and tears;
So then why do I cry?
The wind that blows through leafy trees
Is soft and warm and sweet;
For me the night is a gracious cloak
To hide my soul’s defeat.
Just one dark hour of shaken depths,
Of bitter black despair—
Another day will find me brave,
And not afraid to dare.
About the Poet
Clarissa Scott Delany was born Clarissa Mae Scott in Tuskegee, Alabama. She was the daughter of Emmet Jay Scott, secretary to Booker T. Washington and special advisor on African American affairs to President Woodrow Wilson, and Elenor Baker Scott. She attended Bradford Academy in Massachusetts and graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Wellesley College in 1923. This accomplishment landed her a cover article in The Crisis magazine in June 1923.
Delany gathered frequently with other young Black people in Boston at the Literary Guild. Claude McKay was among the institution’s featured speakers. She traveled to France and Germany and later published the essay “A Golden Afternoon in Germany,” inspired by this period, in Opportunity magazine. Delany then moved to Washington, D.C., and taught at Dunbar High School until 1926. While there, she joined the Saturday Nighters Club, a salon hosted by Georgia Douglas Johnson.
Delany entered her poem “Solace” in a contest hosted by Opportunity. She tied for fourth place, and the poem was eventually anthologized, alongside her other poems, “Joy” and “The Mask,” in Countee Cullen’s Caroling Dusk: An Anthology of Verse by Black Poets of the Twenties (Harper & Brothers, 1927). Some of her other poems were also anthologized in Arna Bontemps’s and Langston Hughes’s The Poetry of the Negro, 1746–1949 (Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1949).
Delany later moved to New York City, where she became a social worker and the director of the Joint Committee on the Negro Child Study. She published findings on delinquency and child neglect among Black children. She died at twenty-six of kidney disease.
I don’t often remember the dreams that I have, but I was having a very sweet dream this morning. In the dream, I was in high school and did something I’d have never back then. There was one particular guy I had a “crush” on in high school. Thinking back, I know I had several crushes on different guys, but I wouldn’t let myself think about it that way, but it was these guys I was thinking of when I jerked off at night. There was one particular guy that was in more than his fair share of fantasies, he was who this dream was about.
I dream went something like this:
I was standing with my back to a wall, and he asked me, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
I replied that “I didn’t have any plans. Why?”
He said, “I’m supposed to go pick up some guacamole but was wondering if you’d rather play soccer instead.”
(This was a really strange part of the dream because I hate guacamole, and I doubt either of us actually would have known what guacamole was back then. Also, he would have probably asked me to play football or basketball, not soccer.)
I replied, “You know I’m not good with sports, but I am good with balls.”
(Cheesy, I know, but we were in high school and this was a dream.)
“Really,” he said with a sexy smile.
I sort of stammered, “W-w-well, I’ve never actually played with anyone else’s balls, but I’d like to.”
“Really. Well, that doesn’t have to wait until tomorrow,” he said and leaned in to kiss me.
I asked if he had somewhere private we could go, and I remember he nodded and started motioning me somewhere…
Just then, I heard a cat meowing. I rolled over hoping to get back to my dream, but as I was still half asleep, I never could get passed the part where he leaned in to kiss me before I heard a cat meowing again. Isabella wanted her breakfast, and she was not going to let me go back to sleep and finish my dream. So, after a few more starts and stops to my dream, I finally opened my eyes and got up and fed her. No matter how much I’d have liked to have finished that dream, I knew it wasn’t going to happen, so I got up and fed her.
Ugh, cock-blocked from such a sweet dream by a cat. So frustrating…
 | vandycolt on Moment of Zen: Fun in the… |
 | noisilycool3bc985058… on A Quiet Thursday |
| noisilycool3bc985058… on The Winter War |
 | The Winter War | The… on The Broken Dawn |
 | iameverywhere1 on Pic of the Day |
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. So, if you click on a link that takes you to Amazon.com, I may earn a commission.
Trust me, it isn’t much, but every little bit helps.
Joe
The Closet Professor 