Residual Mocha-chino Rush

Tao Quote of the Day:

In ancient times there were great Taoist Sages. Their way of living was so deep, so subtle, it cannot be directly explained. Instead, here is how they looked:
Cautious, as if crossing the ford of a stream in winter.

I have no idea what that means, and I don't find any bits of wisdom tucked discreetly between the lines. It did however bring up the whole 'look of caution' thing. I haven't been able to shake that feeling of fear and frustration from having to argue with a deaf man over whether or not what I heard was a tornado or lightening. I finally got the last word after I refused to come up from the basement while he stood on the porch, yelling down to me "You gotta see this!"
I answered, "Don't tell me, could it be... a tornado? DUH!"
For some reason, 'duh' works neatly as a last word.

RESIDUAL MOCHA-CHINO RUSH

My sleep habits are somewhat erratic. By that I mean sleep is not something I am predisposed to. Most people grow out of the I-can't-sleep-because-I'm-afraid-that-I'll-miss-out-on-something syndrome. I didn't. Life is full of surprises, some good, others, not so good, yet they all carry with them a sort of addicting amped-up euphorian feel. Kind of like one of those $50 latte's from the foo-foo coffee counter.

In my present mid-life bulge, I attribute the rush not to the adrenaline fix life used to feed me, it's more of an involuntary secretion from the residual stock-pile of mocha-chino-espresso-lattes I carry around in my fatty tissues.

Last night I fell right off to sleep, but like all good things my R.E.M. was interrupted abruptly and was ended by a terror stricken me that just realized in my full color (yeah, I don't care what they say, I've never dreamed in black and white) dream that I had conjured a tornado and it was heading straight for me and I didn't have the forethought to allow myself to do that flying thing I do in other dreams. I think they call that lucite dreaming; When you are aware of your dream. Much better than formica. Sucked to be me I'll tell ya, standing there with my cane and legs of lead, like Barbie BEFORE she got the bendable legs. I was standing in the typical Mid-Western town with all the little shops all stuck together like town houses, only their rent is cheaper, and nowhere to hide.

Lucky for me, what I thought was that ever familiar freight train noise, was just the old geezer across the hall chug-chugging along in in blissful slumber. It did not emanate from Kansas. That state is always spittin' twisters!

I never did get back to sleep, so I figured, why not recharge my fatty tissues and run off at the keyboard like I do, oh so often? So I slipped out of bed and into my Tweetie Bird slippers and made myself some luscious French Vanilla l-o-v-e handles...extra sweet.

word count 495
2/6/2005 10:28 PM