Mr. Neil (mrneilesq) wrote,
Mr. Neil

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You can't make stuff like this up...

I've said it before (well, not really) and I'll say it again (or, y'know...a first time), that my mind is the most curious element known to mankind, and twice as dense as Beryllium. This morning I awoke in a dizzying stupor, with mind fogged by fatigue and with tenuous balance at best. I hobbled over to the dresser (which was two feet from my bed, but it's a much further trek when you can only walk in concentric circles or in a vertical decent) and started gathering up the day's wardrobe. A pair of underwear, an undershirt, and... a third item. I literally stood there for two minutes trying to finish off the triumvirate of raiment, but I couldn't figure out where the the missing wearable I needed was. I honestly thought I was looking for a Raccoon Skin Hat, and was vexed by being unable to find it. Now, as you may have guessed there are a few things awry about this selection. I have never, and WILL never own a Coonskin Cap. Furthermore, I can't think of a single real world scenario in which such an article of clothing would be required, least of all by someone as suburbanly inclined as myself. Yet, for a fleeting few moments, I was in an undulating panic, tearing apart the drawer for a ridiculous excuse for a head warmer. Perhaps in my daze, I felt I needed to Remember the Alamo, or was compelled to join the Bensenhurst chapter of the International Order of Friendly Sons of the Raccoons, but more than likely, two of my mind's cylinders weren't firing. I'm just glad that my awakened subconscious hemisphere chose such a docile yearning. I dread to think of what would happen if I were to, say wake up in my garage and mistake the push mower for a cuddly squid. In conclusion, who needs an exciting life when your mind is your arch nemesis?
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