A charming co-worker once listened to me blurt, stared, then said slowly to a third person as we all sat there, “There’s a context for everything she says. We just don’t know what it is.” This blogging thing takes practice.
The reason for yesterday’s adventure which we can refer to as The Ceremonial Running of the Non-Sequiturs was that I don’t sleep, and my co-worker asked why I haven’t turned myself in to the proper sleep authorities. Given that I can’t get through an eye exam without a psychiatric referral, I doubt one of those clinics where they wire you for sound is a great idea, mostly because I’d like to be on the other side of the glass, snickering, but also because I fail time and again to articulate my problems in such a way as to permit modern medicine to solve them. I guess. Either that or I’m just so droll doctors can’t bear the idea of parting with my cameo appearances.
Don’t get the idea I’m sick. I’m not – but someday I may go for a consultation armed with sock puppets.