I'm home from work today. I'm not feeling like myself. I called into work and told them I was sick, but because there was a system problem I've had to work remotely anyway. I'm all poopie today. Actually I was pretty poopie yesterday, too. I pooped 4 times in a row yesterday, in case you were dying to know that. I have a new boss and he was up from the deep dark jungles of Peru to visit us for the first time. It was important that I be there, so despite my poopiness I had to go in. Not so today, though, so here I sit at home. I keep bumping into things and dropping things, too. So not driving into work was probably a good thing.
I just woke from a dream in which we owned a 1940s Chevy and were driving it to the "rainbow bridge" park in downtown Memphis for some old car show or something. I don't even know if such a place actually exists, but it sounds like something Memphis would have, doesn't it? Yes, it does. Anyway, when I'm not sick I always dream that I'm either driving my old high school car, a 1971 Chevy Monte Carlo, or the car I just sold, a 1969 Buick Wildcat. The fact that we were riding in a really cool old car that I have never even owned reassures me that all is not well in the mind of Memphis, or in this case, the ass which is connected to the mind through all the electrolytes I seem to be spewing out the bottom end.
I had meant to do a post on Ophelia Ford, but I keep forgetting. I've posted several times about crazy Tamara Mitchell Ford and her ex-husband John Ford, but now sister Ophelia is in the news. She was in the news a year or so ago complaining that her family, the Memphis version of the Kennedys, won't GIVE her a seat in our state government because, you know, they can do that with all their connections and files filled with dead people still registered to vote. She said "it's because I'm a woman" that they won't give her the seat in our state senate. Anyway, they finally gave it to her and now there's an investigation. Bad timing, Ophelia, what with the FBI having already arrested brother John for his crooked activities. Had you not been such a narcissistic psycho Ford bitch ho you might've thought of that and tried to run legitimately at the very least. But you didn't. Now you're in court. Claiming "it's 'cause I'm black." How sad. How predictable. How Memphis.
OK, so I'm at home. The cats are happy about that. I'm rather indifferent. I slept a lot. I dreamed weird dreams. One of my dreams ended with Tim Robbins at a police station talking about a kid who allegedly killed some man and as he was talking their CSI was testing a monkey wrench. Somehow I knew that the wrench had his prints and DNA on it and he was about to be arrested for the murder himself. Perhaps it was because this was my dream and thus my brain determined everything that was going to happen? Probably so, but TV isn't any better most of the time. So predictable.
OK, so I need to eat something and then probably poop it back out again. Maybe I'll update this later?
One last thing, probably only of interest to me, but I finally got that damned glass splinter out of my finger. It's been stabbing me down to the bone for a week but it was so small that I couldn't even see it through a magnifying glass. I got it out today after lunch. Good thing I stayed home sick or I might still have it in me. Pooya!
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