Imagine sitting in the recliner in your living room, only to discover that it has somehow been attached to a bull riding machine straight from the nearest honkey-tonk. Granted, it’s on the lowest setting, the one designed to make you look sexy, not throw you to the ground in a beer-stained heap. But still, you’re not feeling particularly sexy, because this is, after all, your living room, and stuff isn’t supposed to move.
Welcome to my world at the moment. My latest head cold comes with the vertigo accessory, even though I don’t remember ordering it. Can I get a refund? Please?
In theory, I’m watching TV, but everything is gently rocking and slowly spinning, and it’s all I can do to hold on, let alone focus on the show. I’m being taken for a ride. I want to get off.
Even typing this blog is a challenge. I have to remind myself that the keyboard is oriented to me. I don’t have to chase it. I’m actually finding it easier to type with my eyes closed.
Is this what Dorothy felt like when she went to Oz? I never noticed what a funny name Oz was before. Okay, I’m delirious, too. Yippee.
Why do we say a pair of pants? It’s just one. It’s not like you’d ever separate the legs and use them independently. A pair of pants should be two pants. Same with a pair of scissors. Just because scissors have two blades doesn’t make them a pair. Try using one blade without the other sometime and see how far you get. These things seem very important all of a sudden.
My dog is worried about me. He keeps jumping up into my lap. I try to warn him off, because I wouldn’t wish Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride on anyone, but for him, loyalty is everything. I tell you what, though, if the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t be sitting on his lap. No way, no how.
I see my mother’s picture float past. I miss my mother the most when I’m sick. She was really good at holding my hair out of the way when I threw up, and bringing me flat ginger ale and crackers afterwards. That’s a character trait that separates the men from the boys, if you ask me. If your person isn’t willing to hold your hair while you throw up, well, then, it’s a slippery slope, is all I’m sayin’.
And there goes my father’s memorial flag, all folded up in its triangle, some of the 21 gun salute bullet casings inside. I keep it to honor the one good thing he did. As it floats past, it occurs to me that that flag got closer to him than I ever did. How pathetic is that?
Whoa. What? The sun jumped across the sky. Or maybe I fell asleep. Yeah. That’s what happened. I fell asleep. I think I dreamed I was bobbing on the ocean. And what do you know? I still am.
I’m not enjoying myself, here.
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