I was hating this newly-known sheet. I harm sheets because my feet are all rough with callouses. So then there gets to be a hole, by my feet. What a pita.
I was hating this sheet Ming found in the closet, an NDE sheet. It’s polka dots.
“I hate polka dots! Who ever thought of polka dots? What a terrible idea!”
Ming was half-asleep. I had comforted him and tried to help him be the right temperature.
“Whoever thought of polka dots needed to un-think of them!” I added. “That’s hard to do, un-think of something, huh. I guess that’s like anxiety. I guess that is anxiety.”
Earlier he had wanted to go to bed, and I said I was getting up.
“But you are 90% of the fun of bed!” he said.
“Oh, the other 10% of the fun of bed is Bunny, huh,” I asked. We get a lot of mileage out of Bunny.
Speaking of mileage, our car got a flat tire, so Ming had to learn the procedure for how to get a tire fixed in the way that goes with the car’s warranty. Could you believe it could take up to three days to get our tire fixed?
He was trying to explain it to me, and I wasn’t getting it–one of the last sentences of his explanation was, “Basically, it’s a scam.” Then I understood.
It’s like his new health insurance not wanting to cover his narcolepsy meds. It’s a scam. It’s capitalism. Hurting people for money. Oh yeah, I’m familiar with that. I’ve experienced that before. Where was that. Oh wait–everywhere.
No, not everywhere. In private, we can throw it out the window. Or gift economy at the goddess temple. True love exchanges of love. That’s what I want my life to be like.
Speaking of transitions, I used to be a writing teacher. Transitions were the a thing I kind of hated, transitions between body paragraphs mostly.
On the other hand. Considering this, it’s surprising to note that. At the same time, we see that. A result of this is unexpected.
Most transitions are just stupid. Another thing to consider is. An even more important reason for whatever is. This paragraph will tell you an amazing thing that will make you give me an A.
Since the beginning of time, man has struggled with the need for transitions. Or with the need to put their essay’s idea into the context of all of humanity and all of time.
Since the beginning of time, man has struggled with writing essays. With boring their composition teacher. With trying to get a good grade at a class uncared for, while taking other classes too, and having a life, including work, family, relationships, disability, flat tires, and all of the stress-bonuses.
“I got you!” I said to Ming, who is up, at the end of a conversation.
“I got you too!” he said.
“I got your first! I got you extra!”
“Ok!” he said. “I feel got.” I was telling him it’s not morning, not to take his morning meds. Sometimes he gets up confused.
Oh wait, that’s an understatement. He gets up confused–all the time. Getting up = confusion time.
I’m drinking the tea he made me hours ago, hungry for some unnamed meal of 2am. This sweet guitary song is in my head. “And what can I bring you?”