flashdance
Somebody make me drunk. The week has had a mouthful of sharp teeth clamping clamping into my flesh—while it beat my brain side to side between its behemoth paws.
Ignore the initial command (maybe). Anyone who knows me knows I don’t plan drunkenness. Instead get me a masseuse with hearty, able hands.
The good doctor has given me official permission to wash my hands of all work related to Journal #2, the first issue of which I have been flurrily finalizing this week. One of my poems will appear in mix with a flush of articles on brain maladies. I love that.
The hypothesis has not been confirmed but I am throwing it out there: since Target installed the machines that take your card while the cashier is ringing up your items, the cashiers have become less friendly. Most do not acknowledge you’re there. They just run the faceless products across the scanner, toss them in the bag, and move to the products the next customer has placed on the belt. I'm not asking for annoying conversation about the weather or your crappy love life, but a hello and a thank you would be nice.
Who are you and where did you leave your forearm?
If anyone has documentation of episodes of sleep-writing, let me know immediately. The cruise ship will be embarking on the tour very soon.
An hour ago I was certifiably Sara Crankybutt. Then I became Sara Maniac-On-The-Floor. Now I am Sara Happy-To-Be-Going-Home-Very-Shortly.
Ignore the initial command (maybe). Anyone who knows me knows I don’t plan drunkenness. Instead get me a masseuse with hearty, able hands.
The good doctor has given me official permission to wash my hands of all work related to Journal #2, the first issue of which I have been flurrily finalizing this week. One of my poems will appear in mix with a flush of articles on brain maladies. I love that.
The hypothesis has not been confirmed but I am throwing it out there: since Target installed the machines that take your card while the cashier is ringing up your items, the cashiers have become less friendly. Most do not acknowledge you’re there. They just run the faceless products across the scanner, toss them in the bag, and move to the products the next customer has placed on the belt. I'm not asking for annoying conversation about the weather or your crappy love life, but a hello and a thank you would be nice.
Who are you and where did you leave your forearm?
If anyone has documentation of episodes of sleep-writing, let me know immediately. The cruise ship will be embarking on the tour very soon.
An hour ago I was certifiably Sara Crankybutt. Then I became Sara Maniac-On-The-Floor. Now I am Sara Happy-To-Be-Going-Home-Very-Shortly.
2 Comments:
Sounds like hard work. Hope its easing up x
Indeed it is waning and I am becoming alive again. Or something.
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