Clearly we have got to work on our communication skills.
Mandy: *walking down the stairs at 3:20*
C: "Oh, where are you going?"
Mandy: "....Where do you think I'm going? I have class at your school in 20 minutes."
C: "Oh..." *pauses*
Mandy: "...yesss?"
C: *sheepish grins* "Did I forget to send you an email?"
Yep, canceled classes. Ah well, I'm not gonna complain about having more time to work on the verdammit power point presentation for Saturday's class that is currently turning my hair gray (gods and goddesses above I HATE POWER POINT) but still. Grrr. Argh.
I had the oddest dream last night. I blame codeine-laced cough syrup and the German pain killers I took before bed.
I'm riding this little yellow motorized wheelchair/scooter home from school (I recognized the route taking me down Southworth towards Morningstar). It was incredibly vivid, like a Disney ride - at eye level, feeling my body whip side to side as I zoomed around potholes, feeling the wind in my face, and hearing the horns of angry drivers (which reminded me strongly of Shanghai traffic).
I zoomed onto my road and into the driveway of my old home. As I did so, I could see my uncle, my aunt and someone else on their front porch next door- my Uncle Ray. Uncle Ray asked me about my wheelchair/go cart and I told him how I could only use it on some roads; that other roads weren't good enough. Uncle Ray told me I just wasn't doing it right -
that he had one too and he could use it anywhere he liked. I snapped at him 'but I'm not you'.
My aunt calls me over from my grandparents house. They're dead (my grandparents) and Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Fern are cleaning out the garage. They tell me they've thrown away many things that no one would want. I ask like what? She tells me they've thrown away an original copy of the Pickwick Papers. I nod and say I remember reading that when I was younger. Aunt Jennifer smirks at me and says, 'Oh you couldn't have. It's far beyond your reading level.' I glared at her and muttered half-defensively, 'I said I started it. I didn't say I finished it.'
Aunt Jen and Uncle Fern exchange smirks and pull a mouldy, moth-eaten cloth covered bundle from the garage and toss it at me. I open it up and start reading. It's surprisingly simple but has nothing to do with the Pickwick Papers which is written on the cover.
I read out loud about a young girl standing on the corner.She's holding a sign that says in effect, one girl for rent - '100,000 in gold boullion. Will perform the duties of a dutiful grandchild for couples that have none'. The narrator is shocked, and asks her about this (I recognize her as a cousin but not sure which one) and she says her mother had the idea. Then she smirks and says that since the money must be paid first, she gets it all and can be gone before 'mom' ever knows. Clever child.
Next, an old man is grumbling and walking out of the house (which is described as looking much like my grandparents) and is being helped by a young man in his teens. The old man is whining 'why did you make me come home? I could have stayed at the office, with love for nought but me bob.' Apparently he's a successful accountant and spends his days at the office counting money not unlike Ebeneezer Scrooge.
After reading just two pages into the story I am struck by an idea to turn this into a musical, and it shall be called the 'PP's Please!' even though this story has nothing to do with the Pickwick Papers. I am convinced it will be success and start writing right away. The characters are modernized, given modern names and modern clothing and lingo.
I woke up just as I was deciding on the cast which seemed to be made up of Prince of Tennis characters and old rock stars. Huey Lewis was playing the grumbling old man. You don't really want to know why Deadpool suddenly showed up.
I have decided my brain has far too much time on its hands. I must kill it with alcohol. mariadellaterra , fire up the chariot, we're hitting Malones this weekend!
PS - has anyone actually ever heard of the Pickwick Papers? I don't even know how it got stuck in my head, or why my family was insulting my intelligence. ^___^
C: "Oh, where are you going?"
Mandy: "....Where do you think I'm going? I have class at your school in 20 minutes."
C: "Oh..." *pauses*
Mandy: "...yesss?"
C: *sheepish grins* "Did I forget to send you an email?"
Yep, canceled classes. Ah well, I'm not gonna complain about having more time to work on the verdammit power point presentation for Saturday's class that is currently turning my hair gray (gods and goddesses above I HATE POWER POINT) but still. Grrr. Argh.
I had the oddest dream last night. I blame codeine-laced cough syrup and the German pain killers I took before bed.
I'm riding this little yellow motorized wheelchair/scooter home from school (I recognized the route taking me down Southworth towards Morningstar). It was incredibly vivid, like a Disney ride - at eye level, feeling my body whip side to side as I zoomed around potholes, feeling the wind in my face, and hearing the horns of angry drivers (which reminded me strongly of Shanghai traffic).
I zoomed onto my road and into the driveway of my old home. As I did so, I could see my uncle, my aunt and someone else on their front porch next door- my Uncle Ray. Uncle Ray asked me about my wheelchair/go cart and I told him how I could only use it on some roads; that other roads weren't good enough. Uncle Ray told me I just wasn't doing it right -
that he had one too and he could use it anywhere he liked. I snapped at him 'but I'm not you'.
My aunt calls me over from my grandparents house. They're dead (my grandparents) and Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Fern are cleaning out the garage. They tell me they've thrown away many things that no one would want. I ask like what? She tells me they've thrown away an original copy of the Pickwick Papers. I nod and say I remember reading that when I was younger. Aunt Jennifer smirks at me and says, 'Oh you couldn't have. It's far beyond your reading level.' I glared at her and muttered half-defensively, 'I said I started it. I didn't say I finished it.'
Aunt Jen and Uncle Fern exchange smirks and pull a mouldy, moth-eaten cloth covered bundle from the garage and toss it at me. I open it up and start reading. It's surprisingly simple but has nothing to do with the Pickwick Papers which is written on the cover.
I read out loud about a young girl standing on the corner.She's holding a sign that says in effect, one girl for rent - '100,000 in gold boullion. Will perform the duties of a dutiful grandchild for couples that have none'. The narrator is shocked, and asks her about this (I recognize her as a cousin but not sure which one) and she says her mother had the idea. Then she smirks and says that since the money must be paid first, she gets it all and can be gone before 'mom' ever knows. Clever child.
Next, an old man is grumbling and walking out of the house (which is described as looking much like my grandparents) and is being helped by a young man in his teens. The old man is whining 'why did you make me come home? I could have stayed at the office, with love for nought but me bob.' Apparently he's a successful accountant and spends his days at the office counting money not unlike Ebeneezer Scrooge.
After reading just two pages into the story I am struck by an idea to turn this into a musical, and it shall be called the 'PP's Please!' even though this story has nothing to do with the Pickwick Papers. I am convinced it will be success and start writing right away. The characters are modernized, given modern names and modern clothing and lingo.
I woke up just as I was deciding on the cast which seemed to be made up of Prince of Tennis characters and old rock stars. Huey Lewis was playing the grumbling old man. You don't really want to know why Deadpool suddenly showed up.
I have decided my brain has far too much time on its hands. I must kill it with alcohol. mariadellaterra , fire up the chariot, we're hitting Malones this weekend!
PS - has anyone actually ever heard of the Pickwick Papers? I don't even know how it got stuck in my head, or why my family was insulting my intelligence. ^___^