Thursday, September 8, 2011

Soggy Brain

I do not have a hard and fast rule against working on the computer when I have a headache. I use little pearls of wisdom to gently guide my activities:

Do not move too quickly or you will feel like throwing up

Stay away from the powerdrill

Same goes for the benchvise

People may need to be yelled at, but don't

STOP YELLING … ow...where is that f**king powerdrill

Yes, everyone on the internet forum is stupid, but not as stupid as you are right now.

Sometimes I open up things things that I've associated with feelings other than this raw-sewage brain feeling that's left this itch of bile at the back of my throat.

Today I re-read something sad that usually brings up a tear when I know I'm alone. Salty bile is only slightly more tasty.

Today I opened a special story someone special sent (yes...that's five 's'-words in a row, and saying it fast feels icky)  me just about a year ago. Reading it has conjured smiles out of my face when my mood was as black and hard as obsidian frozen beyond memory of its birth fire. Instead of wanting to whisper sweet secrets into the ears of the protagonists, or tell them of the joys beyond the troubles they would fall into, I am stuck wanting to get them out of my head where their rotting bath-towels are short-circuiting already sparking neurons.

I'm left with little to do.

Perhaps I should watch an old movie so I can ignore the dialog until it doesn't make sense?


Maybe I can take a bath so I can weld wet onto my whole-body feverish sensation? Then I can jealously curse the sodden towel as it lies comfortably wadded on the floor.

I remember one boat-trip from Catalina Island to Long Beach CA where the waves picked up en-route. The boat's deck was crowded with well-fed college-students. One-by-one they took their place at the rail till their stomachs were empty and they stained to puke up any viscous dregs of bile they could muster. The dry-heaved bile formed bubbles on their lips. The brisk sea breeze caught the bubbles and they drifted over the boat darting through the complex navigation equipment studding the cockpit. They would then delectably pop in the hair of the students leaning over the leeward railing.

At least writing on the computer is safer than using a sharpened pencil.





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