Sunday, December 4, 2011

Senseless Soliloquy

Why does somebody named Newt keep calling me every day?  If I steal some chocolate from my daughter’s secret chocolate horde, while she’s off studying at Hogwarts, will it magically stick to her hips or mine?  Apparently someone broke into my attic this year and stole our Christmas tree stand. Aesthetically speaking is there really any legitimate opposition to a Christmas hedge versus a tree? 
The crippling pressure of having to bake perfect and edible cookies, as a prerequisite to visiting new neighbors (to welcome them to the neighborhood) is why I’ve never met any of my new neighbors.
While napping inside a sunbeam, in the middle of any day, the meaning of life is crystal clear for one brief moment, just before you open your eyes. Cats understand this, which is why they are so smug.
Writing notes on either stunning stationery or random bits of junk mail both thrills me, and leaves me with a sense of accomplishment; so much so that I rarely, if ever, consult those snippets ever again. After I’ve put pen to paper, ideally my work here is done. Sometimes, though, if I do happen to jigsaw these scraps onto paper, this is what I get.
Do you think it could get me out of jury duty?

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