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This is Not Very Good
TRIP in a chaos. Thatís what she said. Thatís so what she said. I heard it with my own two ears. Didnít I? I did hear it. Iím positive of it. But, now that I think about it, it could have been something else. But no--Iím quite sure of it. That had to have been it. Maybe I should just ask her? No, I really donít think that would be necessary, and Iím sure she would be so annoyed by my asking. So, Iím just going to leave it alone. Yeah. Thatís what Iím going to do. Just leave it alone.
There are days when even the most shrill and vacant sounds climb under our pillows and ring up with such a pensive look in their eyes, that I often have to wonder if pillows are actually alarms. I am quite sure that it has happened to you before. Lying in bed, dreaming steadily, when suddenly you awaken violently to the sound ofónothing. Why, when the dreamers are so in love does the feather rear its ugly head to demolish the sensitivity of flying green fairies? This is a tale of a dream I once had. I am telling you so that when you go to bed tonight, youíll sleep lightlyóand pictures of dandelions dance on your head. Ready. Go.
I fell in love once. I did it fast. It came soon. And it left in a fleeting rain of hockey sticks. I swore to myself nothing like this would occur. There was a singing stream of ten parsleys waiting by my bedside trying their best to grow tall. They looked so sad sitting all short and stocky, it almost made me want to eat an apple. Maybe I should get a glass of milk. Trinity. Tres. Tenderness in a bottle of raspberry Bacardi. Yes. Yes. Yes. I would ask her. I had to know for sure. Because last January brought a cold rain, and I couldnít take it anymore. So I got out of bed, opened the front door, and quickly ran out the house. Most of the streetlights were on, with only a few dimly lit. To the left, all the houses were blue. And to the left, a vibrant yellow. Jog. Jog Jog. Merrily along we go. To which house? Nobody knows!
January, February, Wednesday, March, and April. I wondered if youíd looked at me, and then I was sure. Itís getting foggy again, but I must find you. The question has been boggling my mind for minutes now! So, I kept right on. I took those corners like no other before me. I moved right along that cold, hard pavement. The rain drizzling on my sweater, damping my skin. And I saw a little girl on one of the lawns. She had a quaint little lemonade stand. I was going to stop to ask for some, but right when I got up there she had disappeared. Oh, the drapery the man had pulled! I could see the curtain drawing. I knew I had to hurry. The houses were getting smaller now, and the rows were becoming fewer. I went along, a nice tread I had going. Only a few more. Only two more. Only one more. Oh, look! Itís the little girl again. Letís stop and have a drink. Oh, the trickery! Iím becoming quite thirsty now. Look! Can you see your sidewalk? Come on, now. The fog is getting thicker. I donít have much more time. Iíve been preparing. And now, well, here it is. Did you say it was so? Oh, look at those eyes. Youíve become quite the looker. But thatís not why I came?
Oh. OH. Thank you so much for answering my questions. Or rather ques---Rawr.
Since when did pillows get so feisty? Upright now, looking around, I see a picture lying on the floor. Oh, thank you again. Youíre such a dear.
And yes, there it is. Seconds to readóa lifetime to dream. The sadness builds in our eyes when we look outsideÖwhen we turn the pageÖand as the old man closes the curtain, we can all take a bow. The show is done, the people have left. But it is none other than this exact thing that makes us tickóthe possibility of a close. The questions leading to the nowhere. The people leading to the now. Make sure to say thank you to the little girl.