December 18, 2010. Saturday.
Situation: Last night I went online to set up a blog. After about two hours, rather than the 5 minutes that the servicer suggested it would take, I had a title page. But when I tried to post my introduction, although I was told that the upload was successfully completed, I couldn’t find it anywhere on the site. Then when I was walking downstairs I missed the bottom step and landed hard on my leg, the ice from my drinking glass flying across the kitchen table. The tendons of my leg and hip were jarred, and I can barely walk this morning. Plus I must have churned up juices in my digestive tract, because I’ve been burping up a rancid taste in my mouth, and my energy is low. I’m going to beg off taking Mway for a walk, at least for now. The bigger problem is that I have to work tonight, at a place other than with Moi. It’s not a simple matter of calling in sick: I’d have to find a replacement for myself, and I’d lose my entire pay. I don’t know yet what I’m going to do. Maybe I will go soak in the tub.
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The show must go on.
A for Heeler cont. – MM
Chapter 20
Thus turning, Thelonious, thinking “time tries things, ticks this, then that,” takes twelve thin twigs, throws two to tailtwitching Toto Tin Tin, then, turning toward the tree trunk, taking the ten, taps them timidly, then trenchantly, then truculently, till thrashing. The trumpeter, tired trying to tame Thelonious, trudging through thickets, takes two thick twigs, troughs them, twists them, then through the tubing toots. Together, they, the turning, tapping, tooting trio, taking turns (the trumpeter, twinging, tells Thelonious to terminate tapping through the tooting), trick the torrid tempests (Teresa the Terrestrial taking the time to trim the twigs, the two tryst-torturing thespian taletellers theoretically talking them through, too). Though temporarily, the toxic thunder, this tragic theatre, turns trinkle-too-ral-tinkling.
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