Boris Smelov



Same damn thing every spring. Can’t wait for it to get here. Accumulate project plans like pogs (remember pogs?). Then when spring actually gets here, I think I have to blow through my list in one day. Of course, the day after I lay around wondering what the hell happened to my arms/back/legs. Why can’t I get off the couch? Do people actually ingest this crap called daytime television without hurling bilious Alphabits into their morning coffee? So here I am, pit deep in seventeen major tasks, half my body in need of prosthetic replacement, shaking my fist at the goddess Fortuna, the weather, Murphy (whose law hurts worse than one of his falling beds), thinking, one of these years I’ll figure it out. I’ll take up Zen and find balance. I’ll start helping old ladies and chickens cross the road to build up karma. ‘Cause hey, from my current vantage point, if I don’t, I’m gonna be on a gurney well before Firecracker Day.