Flotsam that cluttered my brain today:
Can something be “very surreal”? A reporter used that phrase to describe the trial of Michael Jackson. Maybe it should be sur-surreal. That gets it close to susurration, which means “the indistinct sound of people whispering”. Which sort of fits.
I saw a flock of robins three days ago. Where did they go in the Nor’easter snow storm? Do they get spun around and flung at Vermont?
I made the mistake of watching Real World for more than sixty seconds. Because life is real when you live in the nicest apartment for one hundred miles and you don’t have to worry about your electricity being turned off. When you have a cheesy lame job that nobody cares about. When you become a stock character thrown in with other stock characters and people are supposed to be shocked when you throw up in boring, predictable, stock ways. (See the beer go down. Watch the beer come up. Oops – beer on your open-toed sandals. Oops – vomit in your hair. Grandma is so proud of you, sugar.)
I call game over on reality TV shows because they always suck. Can we go back to fiction now? It does a better job reflecting the truth.
Beloved Husband has the flu and I am 300 miles away from him. I do not feel very much like a Loving Wife. I’ve been trying for two days to send him virtual chicken soup. Now I am afraid I might succeed. I have these disturbing images of BH dragging himself off the couch, struggling to the kitchen just so he can get a drink of water… “Water,” he croaks, his face the color of an oyster…and THWAP! out of nowhere a massive amount of steaming chicken noodle soup materializes out of the ether (because of my amazing powers of concentration) and dumps all over his head.
I’m sorry, honey! I was aiming for the pot on the stove! Just shake those noodles off. The dog will clean it up. Maybe you should go back to the couch.
What if they made a reality TV show based in my head?