I’m sleepy today. Okay. I don’t really have much choice in all that. Much option, rather. My older siblings are outside, dancing in the rain, kissing the morning dew, all that jazz. Yet here I am. Stuck in this shell. Eight months and counting.
I thought myself to be special. God insists I am special. But I don’t want to burst His bubble by telling the Fellow I know- I know they all go through this. For heaven’s sake, even butterflies have a more interesting story to tell. So I nod (off) when He goes on and on about how lucky I am to be here.
(Bleugh. There goes my shell again. Moving this there. Taking this here).
Hey! Shut up up there! I’m trying to sodding think!
Shell. I call her that. It’s much better than Box, right? She is my everything, apparently. I sound mad, don’t I? I mean, how can I not be? The crazy lady hardly ever listens to me! She does what she wants, has people listening in on my business every other day without so much as a head’s up! Funny thing is she believes my kicking to be yet another invite to butt in!
What am I God, a parcel? Wanna deliver me already then?
I heard her telling some fellow she’s traveling tonight. Something about needing time off to think. Something about it having been a tough year for us. (Whoever she meant by Us).
Boo-friggin-hoo!
The beach will always be there, Shell.
Decembers will be plenty, Shell.
You might want to run all this by me.
Get on that flight tonight, and I will get on my own flight, too.
I read a story couple Saturdays ago in one of the dailies about a lady who delivered right after her flight landed. Felt like sharing it my own way I guess.
Brucey 