Wrong end of the day

WRONG END OF THE DAY Living at the wrong end of the day, Waiting by my trusty PC to play, Whatever game comes along by chance. Solitaire? Maybe even internet romance. Eyes blackened by a lack of sleep, tis true, Road map red lines abound there too. Squinting optic weakness, such as always found, With internet addiction, when night time comes around. Suffer from withdrawals when I see a darkened screen. Have to push the “on” button, else I wail and scream. Can’t live without the steady hum, of modem on the go. Loved ones all warned me, say now, “I told you so”. Living at the wrong end of the day, Can’t be bothered what they have to say. Know that out there somewhere is a friend, Cards and funny jokes, always send. Couldn’t bear to miss one, right on time, Hate it when I’m booted off the line. Need to update my PC, but the shops are closed at night, Anyway, that’s when my friends, on internet delight. I read the poetry, and comments as well Messages shuttle back and forth, its hard to tell MSN, Yahoo, and ICQ are always running hot, Who do I answer next ? I have forgot. Trying to keep up, with those typing faster than me. Getting better every day, because, you see, I live at the wrong end of the day. Written December 22nd, 2001 © on Dec 21 2001 05:48 PM PST, Patricia Rosenberg   0 • 14