So, I sleep sometimes. Obviously, it's a failure. I'm working on it. I'm doing the work. There's an odd point between being asleep and awake where I am happily paralyzed, and when that occurs I can start thinking any thought I want to and it will simply unfold from there. I can push play on a blank cassette and it will orchestrate itself. I am not the best judge of these ideas, I mostly like to see them born, but every now and then one makes an impression and I wrap it up for delivery to the outside world. A few nights ago, this entire sentence was projected onto the screen and for some reason I thought it was worth remembering. Most of the people I've talked with about it don't agree. Here it is:
"The sign out front says '24 Hours.' It also says 'Emergency' and 'Vetrinarian.' That means I can bring you a tentacle - any tentacle I want - and you have to tell me if it's gay."
I can't be proud of it in the classic sense, because I didn't make it in the classic sense. I just happened to be there when it... well, when it happened I guess. I brought it to Gabriel the next morning when we were writing the strip, like a cool marble or an odd-shaped piece of driftwood, and he said, "I'm not sure if that's anything." It seemed like maybe his thick skull might not be allowing true whimsy to penetrate. Thus did I bring my fascinating discovery to my Wife and Eldest Daughter, certain that their advanced intellect and more human skulls might allow mortal delights entrée. They were on different sides of the room, and they looked to each other for some kind of support - some mooring, some way to orient themselves to the sounds I had just made. "I don't like it," said one. The other: "I don't know what's happening."
My last redoubt was my youngest daughter Ronia - the one most like me. The one who says my jokes first, plucked as though from the air. That level of synchronicity was sure to give me a leg up in this arena. Indeed, in these arenae.
"I think it's something," she said. "But I don't know what."
(CW)TB
