Sunday, November 23, 2008
it's like fuzzy cream colored warm clouds covering you from head to toes, releasing a sense of well being in small doses so that you almost fall asleep in your chair with a pen in your hand, sleeping on the paper. Songs flow like honey through your veins and your blood sugar gets dangerously high resulting in the sweetest of benign smiles that you just cannot control. You begin to write in amazingly long sentences without stopping to take a breath as your face feels warm and your fingernails type slowly, ever so slowly making no mistakes whatsoever because of the sheer slowness of movement. Everything is in slow motion like a plesant dream. And I wonder why I didn't bring my book? Am I getting a fever? Is it the jacket I'm wearing or the first time I had lunch with another person?