the funds from the less stable what-ma-thingy
to the more stable whipper will, please bring your
paper towels and the bleach. Also, it might be nice
to have those surgical gloves. The interesting thing
about gloves is how they provide a layer, a boundary,
a fence (if you will) between the weird yard of your
skin and the weird yard of the thing you're touching.
Often, on lab days, when no one's around and
the secretaries are at lunch, I will open the scroll
that reads, like, like a menu of torture methods. I always
stop about mid-way through, fatigue mounting
me into a prison bitch. Lazing on the sofa,
dreaming of the time change, dreaming of the Jedi,
dreaming of the weird dreams of sleepwalk. Still,
to relieve the pressure, I'm going to have to
move quicker than I am accustomed to. I am used
to being very slow and snail-ish. I'm usually
proud of my sloth, but these days, with the economy
how it is and with all the regular bullshit
of regular living, I find my normally stable brain
is teetering and then, like a tiny bird egg, I'm somehow
lost in the grass and the perfect vegetable for a snake.
