Hey, There's a Bug in My Salad!

Since I plan to squish my other blog (www.saladbugs.blogspot.com) into this one, I figure I might as well get a head start now.

Excuse me whilst I vent out the pent up abstract jigsaw pieces that lurk in my head.
(I really need a drain, because pouring out my brain's by-products through my fingers and into my blog posts must be really tedious for you dear readers.)

* * *

I ducked in the sewer, and slid down the stepping stones that decorated our treeline drive. The air is boggy here, and I don't fancy the creepy birdsongs that cheep and chitter near my bedroom window. But it's where I'm at, and it's where I'll be, so I'd best take the popcorn out of the microwave and settle down to watch the cinematography. There's always that possible chance that it will be a five-star film. In fact, I've noticed that lots of people take that chance and wager all their musty old antenna for butterfly wings. But only a few ever add up to the moths in the closet, and an even fewer become the jeweled beauties that ride the wakes of the springtime breeze. And even if they tried hard enough, it takes more than what they could conjure up. Don't you see? You should take it in a stride, but leave it on the slope. Don't fall unless the net is, at the least, ten feet below, 'else something different might befall and fall on you. Be careful what you wish for, but not because it might come true; only because it is in that wish that you give yourself away, and hang your hopes somewhere higher then where you believe you'll otherwise end up. And if you do wish, it shows you there and then that you're expectations have arrived at the rendezvous point whether you told them where it was or not.

They are quite sneaky that way.

One of these days I'm going to trip and fall on my face. And when I look up, I think there will be a silver lining in the silhouette that will stoop to give me a hand. After dusting myself off, maybe I'll look into the face of my deliverer and finally realize that all those fantasies that I wove around myself where really, truly, just what I called them: Fantasy. Though sometimes I told myself (as I drifted in and out of sleep) that they were more a reality than any, I really needed to come to the conclusion that the pavement isn't so hard when you hit it with your head screwed on tight. Besides, my dreams don't really turn sour anymore, but they're starting to fool me into pounding the snooze button again and again. The clock maker will never forgive me. 

 So after the morning routine, perhaps I'll sit with a can of conscience and a plate of perspective. Then I'll sigh and wonder. Not on anything in particular. These hours go by really really slow when you know you've got something to do but you can't find your utility belt to do it. By the way, what does "Salad days of yore" mean?

And since curiosity really killed the cat, I definitely don't want to know what it will do to that herd of antelope.  

* * *

The End.

And thanks for reading my randomness. =)
It's nice to rock the writing boat, speaking figuratively. Seeing as writing is like a seesaw---you have to be balanced in what randomness you counteract with structure and sense. So that's what I do when just want to relax and not think about actually adding prose and formation to my sentences.

Needless to say: my mind goes a mile a minute. And I don't know about you, but I think it's fun (and entertaining) to read scatterbrained words every once in a while. =P
So God bless, and until next time! (of which we hope will not be so random)
Kismint

PS: On another note (other than writing), feel free to give me birthday cake...after all, 'tis my birthday today...