Saturday, July 03, 2010

Chewing the Cud

I have been working steadily, maybe because I'm way past deadline and as such, have no choice. The drama is there bubbling under the surface and erupting once in a while in mild and not-so-mild hysterical outbursts, but thankfully, I have the house to myself so there is no one to witness the bouts of weeping, the screaming into pillows, the full out tantrums in front of the TV and the wild angry dances I do by myself to really soft, gentle music, you know the kind with waterfalls in the background?

Sometimes I go out in the garden to pluck stalks of grass and chew meditatively. Is this how it tastes to cows? What if I had four stomachs? Could I stand chewing cud for hours looking out into the uninteresting horizon thinking about...who knows what cows think about.

Maybe they're reciting The Wasteland in their heads. Maybe they're translating Greek poetry. Maybe they're chuckling at a scene from Lysistrata. Maybe they're wondering how to design the next birthday card. Maybe they're trying to figure out what Gary Larsen's cow tools are. (Not the saw, I got the saw, the other two tools)

Anyway, I can't chew cud now. I chew pizzas instead. And have The Big Bang Theory playing in the background as I write about chevron lights. Not a good idea as no matter how many times I've seen the episode I have to watch it again. Sheldon fascinates me. Like a blinking chevron light. Like a median screen. Like tiger's eyes (the road stud not the semi precious stone).

When you're chewing cud you can get sorta thirsty.

My fourth stomach is reserved for dessert.

I may become normal again when I have finished this book.

But then again, it's me we're talking about here.

Which means, I may not.

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