Imagine me a ping pong ball whizzing around at hyperspeed and that's the frantic pressure going on inside me. Not about the ward changing thing, although I'm SURE that contributes.
I'm not going to say what it's about, actually (we're all fine, tho! well, as fine as I can be, I suppose, given I'm feeling like I'm sitting on top of a volcano that's about to blow . . .).
But.
ASEHROYHQNEROITJOAKNASFLKMDFNVLK
DAFNGOAISDTOIQWERTYQENRYGOANTGN
SAIEODGHASOIFGH
Okay, that was just a fragment of my tumbled, pressured, frantic urges/thoughts, whatever that are trying to get out. Somewhere in there, you'll find that twelve monkeys accidentally wrote the Compleat Works of Shakespeare on a bunch of typewriters.
2 comments:
I will have to catch up here soon as I have not been online very much. I had a friend who wrote a poem about pressure and a pop can and letting a little out at a time or it will explode. I like that 12 monkeys reference. I use that one when talking about what some call small miracles that skeptics just want to chalk up to as coincidences. I believe in miracles. Talk to you more soon!
Thanks barb. Thanks Stephen. Wish it was my dog, but we can't have any pets, altho I'm thinking about a fish anyway.
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