There's been a million things to write and I've written them but when it comes to pressing the garish orange "publish post" button at the bottom of the screen I stop. I crumple my tongue and merely hit the hi-line blue "save now." All this holding in of ideas after I commit to SAYING IT.
[sigh]
This is harder than I thought.
Oh wait! Tonight I did fall off my chair in an attempt to tell my cousins I loved them. Progress.
The other night I was sitting up with dead horses. We were playing some dead card games and the D.H. I call Ione made a particularly magnificent dry witted comment about the Grim Reaper (you see they're not so bad once you get to know them) when I looked up at her and realized, with a severe start (the kind that E1's car hasn't been capable of in a few years), that Ione and the others looked alive. In fact, I reached over to Q who was directly to my right and felt the pulse on his foreleg. He had a pulse.
"Pinch me," I said to Cliff.
"Are you trying to make a joke? I've got hooves not apposable thumbs."
"Oh...yeah, no...sorry..." I felt so confused. Have I been wrong this whole time? "Hey guys, did you know you're alive?"
They stared at me.
"We're alive?" Bea threw her cards on the table. "Why have you been lying to us?!"
"I didn't mean to lie! No, I wasn't lying, I didn't know!"
Arnison smiled, "So are you going to buy a ranch for us?"
"No, on this I will not budge. You are going away."
On another note, I am Egypt.
Showing posts with label dead horses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dead horses. Show all posts
15 September 2009
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.
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.
17 July 2009
nine*
My life is a leitmotif.
LEITMOTIF: 1. In music or drama, a marked melodic phrase or short passage which always accompanies the reoccurance of a certain person, situation, abstract idea, or allusion in the course of a play; a sort of dominant label.
source: dictionary dot com.
stay tuned for original artwork.
probably drawings of dead horses.
slash emaciated horses.
and end scene.
Love,
Marge
*pronounced NIEN!
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