Why coherent thought is like a chicken

The colour pic is what I would look like if i got some sleep. Unfortunately, I resemble the one on the left, in all its greyness.

Oh man. Jared is getting married. Poor girl, poor, poor girl. I remember, back in the day (Kingscliff - my salad days) Jared used to be the freaky dude who used to follow me around, claiming that our closely matched birthdays meant we were soul mates (I'm july 9, he's july 10). Anyone who has known me long enough will have heard my Jared rant. I'll spare you just this once. and only because i'm soooo tired but can't sleep.

In that half awake half asleep state they call insomnia. Reminds me of fight club, which, by the way, if you haven't seen you should see and if you've seen it as many times as i have you should freeze the final scene frame by frame (for roughly the last minute) which will shock, disturb and thoroughly amuse you.

This would be about the most incoherent blog I have posted yet. Maybe I should save precious -e-space for when I have found my marbles and gathered them up off the floor. Then, maybe (just a maybe, folks) I could explain to you the reason why i marked bunny's death knell with such a title as 'the house of usher'. its a good title, and given with good reason.

At times like these, I feel like a batty old eastern European woman, somebody's grandmother, who accidentally didn't close the chook shed properly and now all the chickens have escaped and she has to gather them all up again and put them back in the shed before her hot-tempered daughter comes home and threatens to lock her up in whatever they have instead of nursing homes in eastern europe. And I'm ancient and too slow to move very fast, and my poor old heart nearly gives out. And I get to wear gypsy scarves and petticoats and big gold earrings.

That is a nice little metaphor for how i feel about my mental capacity. The chickens represent coherent thought, my fatigue is the idiot who let them out of the chook shed, which represents my brain. That panicked little voice in my head is the volition of the old woman trying to gather up my senses and at least pretend to be compus mentus. And the fiery daughter represents the people I am trying to hide my total incompetence from. The rest of the imagery is just artistic ornamentation to facilitate the metaphor. Incidentally, I don't have a heart problem, but I do harbour a secret desire to wear a gypsy scarf and petticoats.

At this point i'm actually starting to scare myself. I think I'll call it a night