Dodge: “What was that country? It was on TV last night. Something with an H…”
Dodge: “You should never be allowed to name a country.”
Well, I am having terrible allergic reactions, or it might be a cold. Not really sure of anything except the fact that I can’t breathe properly, and my head feels like it weighs a ton. Last night I was sitting in the dining room with a headache and I felt like my forehead must have become like Poe’s in “The Exiles”, overly huge and faintly glowing. Plus, I think my subconscious has been affected because I had a dream that involved Lady Gaga, my new Irish dance steps, and a yellow ceramic chicken.
And a few nights ago I had a dream that I was reciting Lincoln’s Gettysburg address in the rain, in the middle of a strip-mall parking lot, in order to convince someone to lend me their cell phone because I was lost. Weirdly, my tactics worked and I got the phone. Unfortunately, I realized I didn’t know the number. Then I said, “What the heck? I can memorize the Gettyburg address, but not my best friend’s phone number?”
Maybe the point of the dream was that I need to rethink my memorizational priorities. However, there was also a sinister pumpkin-murder scene, so… what? ‘By the way, be on the lookout for vengeful jack-o-lanterns?’ Thanks, Subconscious. Very helpful.
Anyway… Randomness commence!
I am turning into a squirrel… I am harvesting things madly and storing them away in all manner of ways. My bedroom (or should I say nest?) smells “earthy” as Mom says. Also, I ran into the road and was nearly hit by a car.
This weekend I am going to see “The Taming of the Shrew” with Mom. (Hopefully I will not cough/sneeze in the middle of it.) Yay, Shakespeare! And here is the illustrious Bard himself, on my closet door, helpfully saying one of his best quotes.
That, my friends, is why Shakespeare is classic. Sure, his language is different, but the main points are things we all experience. (Also: proof that boys never change.)
The cricket outside my window just made a depressed little “crick-crick” noise. Usually he is enthusiastic to the point of almost becoming obnoxious, but now I feel bad for the poor guy. “Crick-crick”, there he goes again, slow and quiet. I know, little guy, summer is o-ver.
Mom: “Remember just a few weeks ago, it was so hot we couldn’t stay at our house?”
Me: “Remember how I had a mental breakdown like every five minutes?”
Mom: (with a pained look) “Yes.”
Me: “I think my brain cells were getting baked or something.”
Mom: just sips her Coke knowingly.
Me: “I’m going to say I’m sad summer’s over. But I’m really not.”
(Augh! A gnat was flying at me so I waved it away, and touched it by accident! Gross.)
Well, I think I shall bid thee good day…