A friend, D, says it’s imperative for me to keep up with my blogging (I hate that word for some reason), so I try not to disappoint. So… Here I am. Using my blog. Typing. Debating whether or not I want to walk across the way (the way, meaning the building adjacent to mine) and get a Gatorade. Nothing like blue dye #4 and high fructose corn syrup to make you feel like you’re alive in the wee hours of the morn.
Feeling is actually what I need right now. As of late, I’ve been emotionally clogged, I’ll admit. The hamster wheel turns, but needs a little oil before the rust sets in. I also like to think of it as the pressure before the boil. You kind of sense it, even before the kettle whistles and makes its siren call. I am the kettle. I’m also black, but that’s purely coincidental.
Sleep. I need you now, and not in the Lady Antebellum kind of way. (I dig their latest album, by the way. Reminds me of Tejas and pasture romps.) The previous evening, I partook in scandalous things and felt the effects of the devil’s brew until 3pm the next afternoon. I shall not speak of it.
“But Bartleby, you must!”
Nay. ‘Tis for another night.
I’ll be touching you.