I went. I sipped raspberry iced cappuccino (which should be outlawed for its addictive qualities). I got misty when I saw the fresh ginger-bread men at Tim’s and thought of Catherine. I sniffed some flowers. I paused to watch a ground hog shuffle through the woods. I had a smoke and then watched a butterfly flit.
I played Lord Byron and sat beside a stream.
And now my block is gone.
That’s the good news.
The bad news is that I have only 500 words left before I exceed the maximum, and the words just keep coming… I clearly used industrial-strength perspicacity Drān-O, because now I can’t stop, and I have to hit the breaks hard.
I just finished the analysis of the comedy trope “schnook,” but I may as well have made it an autobiography, cause you’re looking at the Queen Schnook.
As Benny would say, “Oh fudge the torpedoes, and full steam ahead!”
Anyway, I'm sure I'll be fine... Though I think I am having chest pains. How old was Byron when he died??
2 comments:
I've been slowly rationing a box of Girl Guide cookies for the last couple of weeks, so damn, does a Gingerbread Figure (cough) sound good. Don't get me wrong, the GG cookies are ok, albeit not as good as they once were. I heard they switched producers. Yeah, that's right: I've got my finger on the pulse of the cookie industry.
Maybe we'll see how easy it is to ship a *figure* off in the mail to you... faceless, as you like them.
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