by Tomorrow's Man
...is offer my first ever smiling hello to February. For the first time in my short history, the most brutal month is on my side.
14 Days.
...is sing the Japanese National Anthem to a small flock of Luna moths. I might hum some parts, the higher pitched ones.
15 Days.
...is breathe again.
16 Days.
...is listen to every Prince B-side ever recorded, back to back to back. Then I might listen again.
17 Days.
...is take a six-hour, steaming hot Aveeno oatmeal bath. The apartment's cold, hard to heat, so the steam will be easy, but keeping it hot will be hard. I'll probably have to re-spigot me hot water every fifteen minutes or so, adding delays to my overall desire for 360 sauna-hot minutes. It's okay, though; I'll have the time.
18 Days.
...is to walk all the way across the snow-covered football field outside my balcony window. With all the snow we've gotten in Wisconsin this year, I reckon it's 2-3 feet deep. But, that's just fine; I'll have the time.
19 Days.
I have a 1 cm. wide hole in the flesh in my armpit. It stings to put on deodorant, to touch, to look at. I can see the striated muscle. The hole, it goes through all layers of my flesh.
In addition, my new roll of paper towels smells like corn. Not exactly like fresh boiled or roasted corn on the cob, but like some sort of smell between lite popcorn with no salt or flavoring that was microwaved several weeks ago, and a dried husk like the kind one could use to wipe feces in the wild.
I've got a significant skin perforation and corn paper, and neither are making sense to me. Maybe they should stop trying to randomly read Shakespeare's Hamlet to me.
Just like Bono, I can close my eyes but I can't make it go away: The high temperature for the next four days combined might equal the high temperature we had today.
Might. Might does not always make right; sometimes it just makes asscold.