I’ve had 1.5 hours of sleep in the past 37 hours. Luckily, my body hasn’t hit that point of hell on earth that sometimes comes with lack of sleep. But I’ve not made much sense in the past few hours.
I went up to Home Depot again today. Got the right part this time. Unfortunately, I cause a leak by fixing one. Figures. I’m no plumber. Now I have to call a guy to come out first thing tomorrow and probably shut the water off to the house before I go to sleep.
Once upon a time, in dreamy land, the milk said to the caboose that it’s legs were tired… My honey is dripping from the tree, it cried. I could not sit by and watch as the children were taken off into slavery… so i stood. I stood and I watched and I waited and I listened and I cried and I yelled and I hollered and I wondered what I was doing making so much noise. Then I realized that this must be delirium because I’m never this relaxed. The dog smoked a pipe while my house shrank, and the shirt was too shiny for the opera. I need another shirt, I cried to no one in particular… and heard no one respond as expected. The shoes were a different story entirely. One which cannot be uttered for fear of how hard it would be to respond to the questions of the innocents.
It’s never over ’til it’s over, I think she said. Then again, she was half-dead and crying in her bowl of cheerios as I bowled a strike. Ever notice how bowling shoes are never stylish? That must mean something to someone.
Where was I? Oh yes, the syrup. It flowed like honey from the dead willow tree. Why a willow tree? Mostly because the maple was busy. Or was it the oak? Who can remember, really? It’s all about nothing in the end. Just people and zombies. Zombies and people. Pod people and split peas. Peas in a pod and pods in a people. People in a pea and peas in a person.
Split pod-people soup is not very appetizing after Lent. It’s never a good idea to wear feathers after Kwanza. Lucia is the name of the gardener I don’t have. He keeps everthing in order, even during the winter. Of course, I don’t have to pay him since he’s not my gardener, but he does good work. Why does his name end in an “a� Isn’t that reserved for females and she-camels? I couldn’t really say, to be honest, since my license was revoked for smoking too close to the mirror. I never knew it was a mirror, I told him, but he said it didn’t matter so long as I inhaled. I, of course, always inhaled.