You know walking in the park is just a walk in the park after all. Not sure what else I expected. Nice walk though. Super easy to do. Fresh air, beautiful flowers, only one bee sting. You know one thing that is no walk in the park? Swimming in the ocean. It just isn't.
I've been told that the walls have ears. I've been told lots of things. Can't tell you about them right now, not with those walls around, especially as some of the things pertain to the new "soundproof" paint I'm planning on covering those nosy walls with.
Even if I wanted to be a chip off the old block, I don't think it is possible. I've seen lots of blocks and chips in my time and what I would give to be considered a chip, let me tell you. Then again, maybe I am thinking too literally about this (something I've been rightly accused of doing on multiple occasions before). Maybe "the block" is more of an ideal, a perfect form, like a circle; something we all aspire to be and spend our lives working towards and I am this small "chip" aspiring to be more like my "block", almost like an arc or a tangent. Yes! I like this! The "block" may represent this huge, possibly fictitious, rectangular prism "block" collection of humanity of which I was a mere chip in my infancy (and am still a chip, just a slightly larger one). Or maybe the block is just my dad and I am his son, the chip, and that means we are similar in many ways and that I came "from" him....I guess? Based on my limited understanding of human reproduction I think this analogy is a tad misleading.
I am painstakingly a man of my word. Whatever I say, even an embarrassing slip of the tongue, a blush-inducing joke, a high-brow soliloquy or just repeating "blah" ad nauseum - I do what ever is in my power to embody those words and live by them to the extreme. Nothing I say is of no, or minimal consequence (even when I say "no consequences", although that doesn't come up too often in my highly consequential existence)! Words leave my lips, even if by total accident or in some random, completely meaningless order and I will be a man of those words. Sometimes I release words from the prison of my brain and mouth (I'm actually a little unclear where they are housed inside my body) to see if I am up to the challenge of living by them (I used to, in my younger, naive days, try to be a man "with" my words but they would have nothing of it. And upon reflection, at my ripened age, who was I to think that I could be "with" them? They are words after all and I was just a boy, albeit a wordy boy. I was always told by my teachers that I asked too many questions and my unspoken rational was that I was trying to be "with" my words.) I hold these truths to be self-evident - all words are created equal and it is my responsibility, nae my duty, to honour each word and treat is as I would want to be treated if I was said words, as someday, I may be.
You bring out the best in me, but we swore never to mention that gut-wrenching, energy-sapping, hyper-embarrassing evening and all that you had to do to me to get it out. Some things just aren't worth the effort.
I long to be worth writing home about. I can just imagine it - we meet (it can be across a crowded room or pretty much anywhere, crowded or not - that is not the point of this aside and I would like to stay on track if that is okay with you) and something I say or do or am wearing (who would I be wearing in this imaginary event?) is so profound or satirical or offensive (could it be profoundly, satirically offensive all at once? I hope so!) that you just must whip out an actual piece of paper (they still make those?) and a pencil (kept around for solely gnawing purposes) and script a letter for the people at home who are doing nothing better then sitting around waiting for a letter containing home-writing worthy material. As you can imagine, I have been longing for this for a while.
Man! That guy is on fire! He is so hard core and I'm not sure how he can continue to shoot hoops with such a high efficiency while actually experiencing a variety of degrees of burning all over his body! Why did I decide to try and roast marshmallows on the sideline of the game anyways?
The other night I was home alone and my face turned white (and for those that consider me a white person, it turned even whiter then my usual reddish-pinkish hue). Actually it would be more accurate to say I turned my own face white. I just can't leave that Geisha-makeup alone for even one night and don't get me started on those fabulous kimonos that are nearly literally calling out for me to wear them.
I can't stand that guy at work! I am so angry and frustrated that I plan to march into his office first thing tomorrow, stare him in the eyes and give him a piece of my mind. Aside from the anticipated long-term neurological damage, I am sure that it will be worth seeing the look on his face. Last time he takes my parking spot, most likely as I won't be able to work there any longer as even the most menial tasks will be beyond me, what with a part of my brain missing and all.
Everyone has always gathering around and excitedly asked me to say cheese. I have steadfastly said no to this request (although on a number of occasions I was tempted to see which cheese would be procured if I had said it) until one day a camera-wielding maniac posing as my close friend, Marcus (or it could have been Marcus posing as a camera-wielding maniac or possibly just Marcus using the camera I bought him for his birthday with his usual joie de vivre) took a picture of me using the brightest flash available on the black market which stunned me and reduced me to a catatonic state where all I said for days on end was cheese and was only snapped out of it when dressed up in a life-like mouse costume (my friends tried to squeeze my girth inside an actual mouse-sized mouse costume to no avail, so they had to buy me gargantuan mouse duds which not only fit well, but made me quite a bit more attractive, especially to my near-starving cat) and force-fed me small pieces of chewed-up cheese a la parent bird to baby bird-style. I came to and for the next month had a strange reaction to hearing the word "cheese" - it made me want to escape to the nearby mountain top and pet mountain goats (really hard to do as they mostly just want to headbutt you). In hindsight it would probably have been easier to just smile for the camera.
I am quite easy going in life and not much cramps my style - aside from actual cramps, those are quite painful and debilitating. I am working on incorporating actual cramps into my style so they will be rendered unnoticeable to all but the keenest eye.
When people tell me that that boat has sailed I'm never totally sure how to react. Should I be angry? Possibly - as strangely the mere sight of a boat sailing is usually enough to make my blood boil. Should I be regretful? Over what? Not being on the boat? I'm happier on land any day. Should I be gleeful? Maybe throw a big, boat-has-sailed party for all of the people who are so happy that that gigantic, hulking, eye-sore of a boat is finally out of the way so we can just enjoy looking at the water. As I am wondering how to react to hearing about the boat sailing away, the person who said it usually leaves as well, much like the boat. If I am lucky he was also standing in front of some water that I can now focus my sole attention on.
For years now, I've been hearing that something I said is the oldest one in the book. And for years, I have nodded knowingly when hearing that. And then one day it hit me -am I so painfully unoriginal that all of my ideas have already been printed, published and sold worldwide! This would be quite the blow to my psyche as I've been walking around for years with a huge and probably off-putting attitude that everything that left my mouth was completely unique. And what book is this?!? If things I am saying are essentially re-treads and totally unoriginal ideas, I need to find this book and either destroy it, thus making me seem more original or read it so I know what is in the book, so I can attempt to say things to people that are not in the book. So, I spent every day for months researching trying to find this book, to no avail. Eventually I gave up and decided to just say every other word of all of my ideas, instantly making them new and fresh and almost completely impossible to follow.
I've been asked on a number of occasions to fork my money over, and I always refuse. It is probably a result of how I've been raised, but I will only use a spoon in matters involving the transferring of monetary funds and occasionally a ladle, which I believe belongs in the spoon-family regardless of what my "ladle is it's own form of cutlery" neighbour repeatedly tells me.
Someone told me the other day that I was just digging my own grave. What?!?! You mean after all of my toil and trouble for years, having to deal with the seemingly endless line of weirdos and all of the patronizing and the total lack of good chocolate, I am now expected to also dig my own grave?!?!? That better be just an expression! And even if it is, what sort of loser utilizes such morbid and confusing expressions to make their speeches stand out, points clearer and conversations sound more exciting? The sort of loser who can start digging my grave post haste, that's who.
I am in the process of stealing your thunder. I had considered trying to make a deal with you for it or even just asking to borrow it for a little while, but then you bothered me incessantly about my lack of understanding of brontophobia and I just had to get you back. We'll see who is afraid of thunder now, won't we?
Ouch!!!!!! I can't believe you actually lit a fire underneath me while I was sleeping in my hammock (you owe me a new hammock too by the way)!!! When I said, I think I need you to light a fire under me, I wasn't being literal! Yes, I know I am very literal most of the time and that I constantly castigate others for their overabundant use of flowery and metaphorical language. So, I sort of get why you have started taking me at my word and I do appreciate that.. But, a fire!?!?! Under what circumstance would I ever want a smoldering fire directly beneath me? Do I want my buns toasted, you ask? Yes, but not those buns! And why did you have to make such a large fire? Did the situation really call for a large bonfire or was that just a tad bit of excitement and over-zealousness on your part? When I said, light a fire under me, I meant that I needed your help finding the motivation to get out of the hammock and stop napping when it is such a nice afternoon. Now I have 2nd degree burns on my ass! You know, I've always had an inkling that you would hurt me one day, but I never thought this is how that would go down. I guess it is my fault - what did I expect would happen when I paired a hyper-literal person such as myself, with an extremely gullible person like you and then I compounded that by treating you to a year's supply of kindling and matches for your birthday.
Once again you have put yourself behind the 8 ball and you seem so stressed and anxious. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, that 8 ball is so small and it isn't really in your way at all. I really don't think you need to let it bother you. That huge, spherical, unmovable black rock that is on top of all of your important work that needs to be done tomorrow - that is your real problem - forget about the 8 ball. And while you are at it, I wish you would stop taking that ball from my pool table, making it very hard to play and placing it in front of you using it's proximity as an excuse for why you are feeling so stressed. Just admit it, I'm better at pool then you.
I know, I know, I know, I am way out in left field. Can I come home now?
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