So that nuggets of gold might surface

Holiest of shit two days running. It must be holy because my head is streaked with pain and allergy in a bloody way that must be some form of god. Banks and scanners work in tandem in my hindrance this week. Big scanner project for the good doctor is threatened! Meantime I enter into a sea-storm relationship with HP Support. When first we begin whispering our fuzzy introductions we are kind, but when I introduce the problem, the HP personality heaves a hearty defense mechanism between us, passing me on to another personality. And then another. And then another. And then another. Salt and fierce slashing, my cannon prepares but stays back. Until I return to the initial personality who passed me off to the second personality. Curses! I counter with a blast of my own bipolarity. Sweet ‘n’ inquisitive turn stern ‘n’ curt. My stereo is furious.

Yesterday I let my head swell red with throb. I steamed and stomped out to my car and drove maniacally home almost two hours later than normal. At home I guzzled a cold Blue Ribbon—immediately. An insidious backwoods dweller ripe with murderous instinct. I have two heads. My roommate made ham sandwiches and string beans. I made sense of my guitar lesson. My book splayed open and I let more magus pull loose my line between fantasy and reality. Tenuous.

With the long hid sunshine I entered today, in calm proper perspective. Some things just go askew some times. Just now the good doctor called from afar. Black and red story having been told, he was calm, deserving of his title, along with the plumpest orange. Furies have set down their forks, and I am beyond storm.