There are a hundred things around this house that are awaiting my attention. The kitchen could use some tidying, the laundry isn't done and I'm pretty sure Alex had his way with the carpet in the yellow room...again. But I'm not paying attention to any of those things. I'm sitting. Not, unfortunately, on the dock of the bay, but I think that if Otis were to visit, I might sing with him.
Wonder what it was that caused him to pick up and leave for the 'frisco bay? Was it the monotony of the ships rollin in and then rollin away again? And what sort of monotony did he find in order to make that dock his home?
Maybe sometimes you just get stuck. The only things worth looking at seem like they are behind you, and anything that is on the horizon doesn't look too promising.
So I guess I'm just going to sit here and realize that at least I haven't roamed two thousand miles just to make the same place my home. I never left.
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