March 23, 2005

So, the other day I was sick...

I got home from work and I curled into the easy chair without taking off my jacket or shoes and I proceeded to have some fevered dreams about Karla and her luscious hair, like pressed silk made from black pearls.

I think there were some dreams about M in there, too, and something about a clown wearing only one shoe cooking barbecue for retard children who were painting with oils.  I also seem to remember that at some point I realized that everything is your fault.  You're the reason I'm miserable and sick, you bastard.  I've had this book up here and available for sale for what, three years, four years, and you still haven't bought it.  What the fuck's the matter with you?  I wouldn't have the damn flu if you'd just buy the book. 

So now, because of the lack of book sales, I would have to do something about the watermelons.  I don't remember what the watermelons needed, but I'm pretty sure it was dangerous, and if I could just complete the watermelon task, my fever would break and everything would go back to normal.  It would require an investment of time, and great personal risk, but in the end, it would be worth it.  And then my socks would be clean and there wouldn't be any more problems with the batteries falling out of the remote.  But there'd still be the issue with Tom Brokaw to work out, wouldn't there?  And don't think I'm not tired of that hanging over my head.  You just can't leave Chinese food out forever, you know.  No matter what that loud mouth goldfish says.