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If my grandmother were alive, she’d call the ball. “Son, you ain’t regular like you should be.” Metaphorically and literally she would be correct. I need a writer’s two pound bran muffin and a thirty two ounce jug of literary prune juice for I am STUCK I say unto thee!
Can you hear it? The chorus, it’s mocking me now. “Tony Wood would’ve had it cut by now. Avalon and Mark Harris would be in court fighting over the rights to the song.” “Sue Smith would have turned it into six musicals, three songs, two blogs, a choral piece, and a book deal, rookie.” I can hear Belinda say “Gang, I wouldn’t feed that to Pete.” Literally, it just told me Joel Lindsey would punch me in the mouth. That just happened.
Some would say I’ve gone completely crazy. I would argue the “completely” part. Obviously there are some significant things I’m missing. Like, oh I don’t know, the ability to finish…anything. I’m going to sit in the corner, slowly rock back and forth, and suck my thumb until I find my happy place.
I’m out!
1 comment:
That's the answer! You need to finish SOMETHING. My ironing is up for grabs....
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