Resurrection Jukebox 2015 Day 5

Tonight the house is quiet. My husband, Whiskey, has left for his office, a.k.a the pickup truck, to make a phone call, and I'm trying to think of something to write. Really, the only thing I can think of is how I regret that I can't use any covers from k.d. Lang. Her cover of Black Coffee reaches some part of me that other artists just skim. Her voice is stellar, no matter what she sings or who she sings with. Shortly before his death, Roy Orbison heard her sing and knew he needed to record with her. Their duet of Crying is available on YouTube. No, I'm not her press agent.

Coming up with a song a day is becoming a family project of sorts. One son suggested Green Day. Another reminded me of the Jackson 5. Whiskey wants me to look up Cab Calloway. There are enough songs to choose from, certainly.
I want my choices to be perfect. I want everything to be perfect. If everything is perfect, then I won't make any mistakes, and I can relax. God, what a horrible outlook that is. Perfection isn't showing up at my front door anytime soon, and that's okay. Good enough needs to be my mantra now. We actually had our home---we rent---inspected today. Whiskey and the landlord agreed that the inspector was a Nazi, but he couldn't find anything wrong. Oh, wait. My son's pickup truck was too close to the tree, and he can't park that close. But the house was clean, wonderfully clean. Not spotless, not immaculate, but wonderful to see. So good enough truly works. If good enough means a clean house with less clutter and all beds made, I'll take it.




I'm feeling mighty lonesome
Haven't slept a wink
I walk the floor and watch the door
And in between I drink

Black coffee
Love's a hand me down brew
I'll never know a Sunday
In this weekday room

I'm talking to the shadows
One o'clock to four
And Lord, how slow the moments go
When all I do is pour

Black coffee
Since the blues caught my eye
I'm hanging out on Monday
My Sunday dreams to dry

Now a man is born to go a lovin'
A woman's born to weep and fret
To stay at home and tend her oven
And drown her past regrets
In coffee and cigarettes

I'm moody all the morning
Mourning all the night
And in between it's nicotine
And not much heart to fight

Black coffee
Feelin' low as the ground
It's driving me crazy just waiting for my baby
To maybe come around

My nerves have gone to pieces
My hair is turning gray
All I do is drink black coffee
Since my man's gone away