Ride. Amusement park ride. A fantasy world/life with coke cans and paper trash under the tilt-a-whirl. So much work, it didn't all get done. So much tragedy my own personal one(s) don't rate. The studio/business is built for speed, built to win.
But not if I play hookey. Yet I must get some leisure time in, some yoga etc. or I will implode. I am imploding. No one comments on my blogs, but I bet somebody is reading.
Don't read this part:
I like how my singing voice sounds after I take opiates. Raspy like Ray Charles. Soulful even. So when I make the new record -- record ha! -- Mr. Eclectic, Unplugged is the working title, I may or may not opiate (a verb). Drugs smell sweet children, said Mrs. Hilldebrand, 12th grade English. Then she ran off with another (married I think) teacher. Then ran back and continued teaching. Newspaper in the tunnel of love. She was totally against drugs, hippies, the whole schmear.
I have no love life. I have no hate death. I am lonely, and I am a hero. And I am a schmuck. And I am disappointed in everyone. Everyone. Well no, not everyone. Just work stuff. The kids are great. Especially all of them. It's just....for me...The ride is too scary. I have always detested amusement parks. But, must admit, basically have a lot to be grateful for. Since this is all just a dream. A house of clouds.
The baby needs to stay off the roller coaster. The god of hellfire will return to the mystic east (England) soon. We will continue to play wrong notes. All of us. And we will envy the success of our colleagues. I have no cash. Ever. But I am taking steps to rectify financial distress. And I'm getting a physical Friday. I'm afraid of the nurse. Monica. Her name means nickname. How good can she be? How many tickets for the physical ride? Don't like cotton candy stripers. Don't fish.
Hooked.
Mr. Eclectic. On the spin cycle. Worm me out!
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