Today I am pulling my eyelashes out. Some sit on the ends of my fingers, I blow those off, in big poofs of breath like smoke rings or in light tickling streams of hot air. I make wishes, knowing that most of them will never come true. Which makes me wonder about the state of our being. We naturally set ourselves up for failure, why?
It has been night all day. I think the sun forgot to wake up. I tried calling to remind her, but I was put on hold. "Sun is in a very important meeting and can not be disturbed." "Who with?" I ask. "The devil."
Yoga makes me feel like Gumby, but my eyes don't bug out of my head and I don't turn green like spinach, and I don't have a best friend called Pokey. And I definitely do not become a comedian. I do have a pair of nemeses who wreak mischief and havoc at all times, only they aren't called Blockheads, they are called Night and Day.
When I was a kid, ideas use to go off like fireworks in my head. In high school, light bulbs burned so bright above my head I was afraid everyone could see them. In college, candles used to flicker steady and strong. Today, I put on a pair of socks, when I got into the office someone said, "Your socks are different colors." I looked down, one was black and the other was purple.
Does anyone remember Gumby's friend, Goo, the flying blue mermaid who spits goo balls and can change her shape? Do you think she was made fun of in middle school?
Trichotillomanic.
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