I’ve been running out of things to say for the last year or so, at least when it comes to my business. Oh, sure…I could spin (yet) another tale of woe, something along the lines of your favorite Pornographic Princess doing something dumb, or silly, or both; broken relationships featuring fair-weather friends, pathological liars, and pill-poppin’ drug-riddled train wrecks; and, of course, all my Homies in the County down in Cell Block 6 (I usually spare the gory blog-o-ramas when it comes to the male talents — cause who really cares about the dudes, right?).
But then I’d start to sound like a broken record, which, I’m afraid, I’ve become.
So, in a last-ditch effort to offer up some original, entertaining BlogStuffs, here’s last night’s dream: I’m in class (again) only this time I’m not the teacher. I’m the student. Usually, I’m the teacher, and I can’t control my class — no matter what consequences I offer up — so I sit there and helplessly watch The Chaos ensue. But this time I’m the student, and Dick Cavett is teaching us something I can’t understand, even though I’m not really sure what his subject is. I can’t understand math, but this wasn’t a math lesson. I don’t know what Dick Cavett was teaching me, but whatever it was, I couldn’t understand.
A Lesson in Life?
And that’s about the time I notice someone stole my fucking Man Purse.
My Murse.
My European Carry-All.
Yea, I have one of those.
Anyways, at first I thought I misplaced it, cause I do that sort of thing all the time, but then I realized someone stole the motherfucker. I walked all over that classroom looking for my Murse while everyone else was working in groups and accomplishing things, and, by the end of our time together (which somehow coincided with my sleep) I was screaming at Mr. Cavett and pleading for my bag and more time to study before his Final Exam.
Which, of course, he denied.
And, like I just told you, his denial was the exact time I woke up.
Maggie was looking at me, and I was looking at her…which meant it was time to start our day.
