I felt steady enough to scrub the sole of my left foot, but found the feeling deceptive.
Had the wind come from the south, I'd still be alive.
Elsie watched her own head roll across the sand, bounce three times, and come to a stop canted on her chin. She'd always thought her chin was too big, and now she had proof.
"Don't worry about it," said the cat. "You're not going to sleep, so you might as well roll with it."
She'd barely gotten settled when the wind blew the door open, again, and this time the blue thing was too fast for her.
Half an inch! Half an inch! Half an inch onward!
Once upon a time, in a land where trees grew sideways, the earth burped.
(It's true. Altered mental states loosen up your creative inhibitions. But they're no help at all in maintaining the creative tension needed to produce an actual work. You're much better off learning to control your creative inhibitions and putting them to work for you. This has been a public service announcement. We will resume our regular blog habits Tuesday. I devoutly hope. You may ask: Why did you drink three cups of Irish Breakfast in the first place, then? Because I couldn't have functioned even this well without it.)
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