It seems inevitable. While this summer is not nearly as bad as last, when I lived by myself alone while interning for IBM, it seems that whenever I venture far from the people I know, my thoughts turn toward the abstract. It's not like I prefer it; I'd rather think of concrete things like ice cream or girls or girls in ice cream.
How about this, then: a girl is stuck under a mountain of strawberry ice cream after a most unfortunate avalanche. She must eat her way out before she freezes to death in the sea of deliciousness. In the process, she realizes that she's lived her life wrong -- an underachievement of happiness, overabundance of work, under-consideration of love, over-emphasis on ice cream. In the process, she also realizes that it's not ice cream, but worms, and that she's been eating her way out of a mountain of worms. But before she is able to spit out a mouthful of worm parts, she freezes to death. The angels come from the skies and cry for her, erecting a statue in her image. Then I come into the picture, and start humping the statue.
I'm frankly waiting for the next Great American novel to flow through me any day now.
"and things get fuzzy"
No comments yet. -