you know how at the end of a play, the actors come out and bow and then fade back into the curtain, and, at that point, the makebelieve world is sharply jarred into reality? that’s how i feel. most of the time. that hopes and wishes and dreams are just momentary pauses in between the business of living. geez. where do i come up with this stuff? downer central. but the business of living ain’t so bad. not if cinnabon and mommy hugs have anything to say about it. i think my street cred just fell down a few notches. whatever, if g’s can’t allow for mommy hugs, then what kind of g’s are they really?
show’s over, nothing to see here.
speaking of g’s, if i am indeed dancing with life (probably the charleston), i need to stop stepping on his toes. i can’t stop toestepping. and i can’t even hear the music anymore. i’m doing some weird crazy dance similar to what i saw this man driving a car doing in bumper-to-bumper traffic this morning. i realized a moment later he was hacking up a lung from the cigarette he was having in a most entertaining fashion. or maybe the cigarette and the hacking were coincidental. oh, to address the first point, don’t ask me why g’s and toestepping go together. let’s just say i’ve known some g’s who’ve stepped on some toes. oh, and there was hell to pay, you better believe it. toestepping is directly related to an increase in pantybunching. and antipantybunching? well. we can only tackle one issue at a time. like global warming. meanwhile, millions of panties across the world remain in bundles.
toestepping from an early age.
speaking of antipantybunching, at work, if you throw around a few words like “urgent” and “deadline,” the world is at your fingertips. too bad i can’t put that on a cover letter. in URGENT need of work. on a life DEADLINE. somehow, that’s construed as desperate. and toesteppy. pfft. i’ve had it with things. wednesday, stand clear. i’m throwing some ‘bows.
a rugby game is a nice place to throw some ‘bows, among other places.