I walked a lung out

This is not happening.
I just had two sleepless weeks and now I'm sick, who knew I could be full of my weight in snot, and now I'm not sleeping tonight.
And, oh great, here come the dead horses stalking up the path to the door. They look as gaunt and grey as ever, and still self-satisfied.
"Well, Marge, what did you expect? You should open up a ranch, we come back so often..."
"No, maybe I should take up shooting. If I put you all out, then I can be at peace."
"You know it doesn't work like that."
"Well, you and I now know that you're not visiting for the reasons we originally thought."
"True."
"What do we do about that?"
"Open up a ranch."

I conducted a science experiment. Here are my findings:
There were once a set of electrons. Lets say there were six billion of them. Some electrons were shaped like the letter M, some were shaped like the letter F. Every year electrons M paired up with electrons F and found their own neutron to circle stable-ly together. Usually when M's and F's were single, they were happy, but they felt like there was a little something missing. They felt it would be more natural to find a counterpart. There was one little F, though, (her friends described her as emotionally healthy so that must count for something) who always felt more stable when she was just an F. She sometimes found an intriguing M, but that's when she started to feel wibbled and wobbled and stretched. However wibbled this little F felt, she maintained firmly that maybe it didn't need to feel stable at the get go. Maybe it was only part of the truth that coupling up was a stable thing.

At this, one dead horse leans back and crosses his fore legs over his chest putting his hooves up on my nightstand. "You're that little F aren't you?"
"That's rather rude, don't you think?"
"I'm dead, what do you think I care about politeness?"
"Well, I'm not F. I'm not that little letter F, electron F. Don't be-"
"-YOU really are going to have to build that ranch because nothing is going to stay stable."
At this, one of the other dead horses snorted, "Except for us, HA! Get it? We're going to stay stabled!"
There were some subsequent snorts, winnies, neighs, and demands for hay. Horse humor is rather tiring, just not tiring enough, apparently. Tomorrow I'm looking for a travel agency that will book trips for a few ghastly/ghostly horses.