the other day the saw-bones decided to re-shuffle the deck, perception-wise. You know, Blue pill, Red pill.
I do not get a choice, I get both.
I get home and things start to get a bit dicey.
I am not feeling all that great.
Mary notices my face and hands are starting to swell up.
A lot.
I start thinking about that guy in the Pink Floyd song, the hands feeling like balloons, except I am not comfortable, or numb. At All.
But the lyrics keep going through my mind:
Goodbye my friend, it's hard to die,
when all the birds are singing in the sky,
Now that the spring is in the air.
Pretty girls are everywhere.
Think of me and I'll be there.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time.
when all the birds are singing in the sky,
Now that the spring is in the air.
Pretty girls are everywhere.
Think of me and I'll be there.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time.
Pink Floyd, what a great, inspirational band.
Anyhow. Turns out the only thing in the world I am allergic to are the pills they want me to take to keep this sentimental, Pollyanna slush-pile I call a brain beeping.
Lets see how the green pill works.
This post should have been labled:
It was late. I was tired.
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