A Foggy Mind, Bathing in Yogurt, and Finally to Bed

This morning I'm gazing out of the living room window of my home. There is a muddy pool of rain water on the grass. However, I may be looking in through the window at a pool of water on the green carpet in my living room? My foggy mind is laid to rest when a thin little man drives up in a car to ask directions. The little man says he is lost. He explains he turned into my driveway to seek help. I tell him to immediately leave my house! That I have no driveway! And that I find his manners despicable! He leaves my living room through the ceiling without his car, and - in his haste - without his legs. Of course, I will find the owner and post the legs to him.

I hate to watch individuals suffer unless they are relatives or friends. Anyway, I will no longer have to stand in a bus queue and make idle chatter with people - who similar to me - neither wish to smile, or speak about grey winter mornings, timetables, how their children smell like sweet vanilla, and how their dog once desired to starve itself to death due to a bad Internet connection. I now have a car. Though it does tend to make the living room look smaller.

Sometimes, the lyrics of a song can send me into a deep depression. One evening I was having a warm bath and I heard Bill Withers singing, "Lovely Day". I think it was the line, "Just one look at you and I know it's gonna be ... a lovely day". I immediately adorned my chastity belt equipped with a GPS tracking system, locked all the doors and windows, loaded my handguns and rifle, ripped out the phone line, and sat in the kitchen sink where I had a clear view of my record collection, the blazing sun (could it have been something the moon said?), and contemplated my weakness for bathing in yogurt, jumping on sandcastles wearing one shoe (believe me, there are not many of them about), and my desire for women, and love.

Suddenly, I realized I was torturing myself and enjoying it. I no longer felt trapped. The fog I was living under suddenly lifted, and I found myself sitting - half-naked - on stage with the New York Philharmonic during a performance of Tchaikovsky's Second Symphony nicknamed “Little Russia”. Somehow it all seemed appropriate. A stunned tuba player blew a lady's left ear off before he fainted.

Reflections: It is beguiling how language works on thoughts and emotions. A sequence of words - spoken, or written - can make your heart droop. The words begin to haunt you, follow you to your place of work, and back home. Finally, to your bed, where everything worth having ends.