Category: Words

I can see inside you, the sickness is rising
Don’t try to deny what you feel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems that all that was good has died
And is decaying in me
(Will you give in to me?)
–Disturbed/Down With The Sickness

Too sick to write. Please enjoy some late 90’s head banging while I am away.

Down, way down, with the sickness.

Can we reschedule Christmas?

At a certain point, I have to just own up to being too drugged to write anything that contains logic. I don’t have a problem with that. Hell, it’s not like there’s a lot of logic in what I write under normal circumstances anyway. What I don’t quite understand, though, is why I have such a hard time finishing any one of the several partially written pieces I have already started. They have a basic progression outlined. It shouldn’t be hard to just clean them up, but for some reason I’m really struggling with it right now.

Apparently, when I swig codeine and Robitussin DM straight out of the bottle for days at a time it’s really more conducive to a more stream of consciousness style of writing. Sorry about that. Someone else might do something like, oh, NOT POST ANYTHING, but I have a streak going and I don’t want to break it even if it means coming across as a loon.

Plus, it’s not like that quality bar is all that high to start with.

I type really fast when I’m on cold meds.

Huh.

This is going nowhere fast. This is the problem when you don’t have a destination to start with. If I have a basic idea of what I want to say, I might not end up saying it very well but at least there’s some sort of point. Does that matter?

Here are a few of my random thoughts:
Nick Foles does not look old enough to play in the NFL, and he looks like Opie Taylor
I love Elvis Costello and people who love him as much as I do.
I don’t want to eat anything
Why do people like “The Sound Of Music” so much?
I hope I will be well enough to go to Eugene on Tuesday
My candles are melting all wonky
Maybe a cup of coffee would help
My mind, not the candles
This commercial with “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” as a soundtrack just kills me

This is how William Faulkner got his start, right?

Yoknapatawpha County is no different from Tigard, except that it’s fictional. Which might be sort of an important difference, or might not. Maybe Tigard is fictional.

Maybe I am.

That would make a lot of sense.

I’ll check on that when the Robitussin wears off.

Wait–how will I know?