Tuesday, April 28, 2009

So I guess the rumors are true, then. Gosh.

(Pre-Script: This post pairs nicely with the song," Superman," #10 on the playlist, so stop whatever you were just doing, including but not limited to, scratching your earlobe, biting a Cheetos, or examining your fingernails, go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and continue reading. I'll wait, right here...) (...still waiting...)
Come closer, my children, and you shall hear
the glorious tale of...
a strung out slightly neurotic girl.
Okay, it's not very glorious, actually.
By "Strung Out Slightly Neurotic Girl," I mean myself.
By "Myself," I mean me.
You may be shocked to learn that I am not a Superhero, and have never possessed any Super Powers, unless you concider my ability to turn white socks, tshirts, and underwear pink in the wash to be a super power. I have always thought of it more as a character trait than a super power...but I digress.
Sometimes I am too intense.
By "Too intense," I mean that I am too intense for other people. I have a tendency to be Overzealous, Over Energized, a Whip Quick Thinker, switching tracks and bridging the gap between my left and right brain, in a "Can't we all just get along" sort of dialog within myself,
running ahead, leaving everyone else in the dust.
I get very sweaty in the process.
Booyah, what?
Where did you all go?
OH, you're still on the couch scratching your heads?
I apologize.
I was too busy lambasting you to notice.
I was too busy bombarding you with words,
just a small sampling of my moment by moment deep, analytical, and/or totally superficial, cliched, hysterical thoughts,
to notice.
Maybe I should clarify:
I have in times past (and by "In times past," I mean "The entire duration of my life, up to the second in which you are reading this") had a tendency to be too intense for other people;
I am not too intense for myself.
"...but Michelle, excuse me, Michelle?"

I hear my invisible imaginary reader interrupting,

"Michelle, if that's true, then why is your toe throbbing?"

Gentle reader, how did you know about the toe?

"...I"m just saying, I find it interesting that your toe started throbbing 12 hours after you took your Aleve this morning...right when the Aleve would have worn off."

Gentle reader, I will have you know, I ran over 14 miles today, and...

"You were limping all evening."

As I said, Precious Gentle Reader, over 14 miles. Uphill. Does that even mean anything to you??

"Michelle, you should have stopped at 13."

Drat. Dagnabbit, gumblasted, Gentle Reader, you could be on to something. Possibly.

Y'all, I'd like to amend my previous statement:
Sometimes I am too intense even for myself. Sometimes.
Can I get a witness?
Yes, in the form of a non-specified throbbing toe. I will not specify which, but it is attached to my body, of that I have never been more sure. WHOLLY THROBBING DIGIT FULL OF NERVE ENDINGS...but I digress. Again.


So the question is, can you keep up?



Ah, Dern. Shelly might just have to learn to
(Just barely slightly)
(on occasion)
(And twice on Sunday)
sloooooowww dooowwnnnn....
Um, yeah,
Like I said, DagNabbit.


1 comment:

vic-a-la said...

nice. i still think you're a superhero, belley. you gotta be to get up and do it all day after day.
love you.