Superheros don't have Colds

The other day I inhaled a bug.  Breathing oxygen is a cinch, but breathing bugs isn’t so easy.  Apparently, you also aren’t supposed to inhale cereal dust, wood shavings, or floating dog hair.  Who knew?

Inhaling has become especially difficult lately thanks to my cold.  Or should I say thanks to my cousin who gave me my cold?  My cold is really inconveniencing the heck out of my life right now.  I don’t really feel sick, but I can’t donate plasma and I can’t do P90X, and it would be a shame to quit after three days. 

P90X will make me stronger, supposedly.  Could be false advertising.  But I would really like to be stronger.  I have weak little legs, and tiny arms that can only lift newspapers and the occasional book.  I’d like to be able to perform amazing feats of strength, like throwing pianos filled with lead to the top of a third-story building or beating Betsy Reeves in an arm-wrestling competition.  I will look less scrawny and malnourished and more healthy and super-strong.  Like this:

And then I will finally be a superhero.

Toilets are Scary

Last night I had a dream that I found a pony in my closet.  I decided to ride the pony, but the pony was so small that when we galloped up the stairs my knees kept bumping on the steps.  It probably means I’m going to finally achieve my lifelong goal of sticking to the ceiling using nothing but some peanut butter and my tongue.  Because hey, dreams can mean whatever we want as far as I’m concerned. 

Take the dream about my cousin, for instance.  In the dream, he was married with a baby but his wife and child fell out of his truck while he was driving across the desert.  When he finally noticed that they had fallen out, he drove back and searched for them, but they were long gone.  He left the desert an empty shell of a man.  His wife was eaten by wolves, but his baby turned up, somewhat worse for wear, a few years later.  He joyously embraced his daughter, swore he would never put her in danger again, and then took her hang-gliding. I’m pretty sure that means I’m getting a hang-gliding wolf for Christmas.  Is there anyone on this planet that would not want a hang-gliding wolf?  I submit that there is not.

But the kind of dreams I hate the most are nightmares.  I don’t hate them because they’re scary, although I don’t appreciate my subconscious making a fool out of me.  Stupid subconscious.  I actually hate nightmares because when I tell people about them later, they usually laugh.  Laugh!  There isn’t anything funny about the boy from school turning into a monster and offering me as a sacrifice to his hideous board game god.  There is nothing laughable about Indians chasing my around my house so they can kiss me with their poisoned lips.  There is not one iota of humor in my aunt trying to flush me down the toilet.  Those are all terrifying situations, and laughing at those is like laughing at Hocus Pocus.  (What?  That was a scary movie.)  Sadly, I know I am not the only one who suffers, because just the other day my friend told me about a nightmare she had and I laughed until my cheeks hurt.  It’s heartbreaking.

That’s why when you tell people about a nightmare you have, you should always toss in a few extras to make it seem scarier.  Tell people it’s about a tall clown hiding in a shower wearing a trench coat.  That’s scary.  Maybe throw in some of those winged monkeys from The Wizard of Oz, too.  And another Star Wars movie starring Hayden Christensen.  

And now I’m probably going to have a nightmare because it’s all I’ve been talking about.  Ah, well.

Why Bother?

It wouldn’t be Monday if I weren’t trying to start blogging regularly again.  Except if that were true there would be a lot of Mondays that weren’t actually Mondays.  Oh well.

So today I finished cleaning my room.  I had to stay up until ten to do it, but I’m done.  I always like finishing a cleaning project, except I find that when I’m done all I can think about is what else I could do to make it even more done.  I could still organize my closet, dresser, and the box under my bed that’s full of who knows what, I could wash the sideboards, dust the blinds, clean my bedding, paint my toenails, etc. 

I can’t help but start to wonder why I even cleaned my room in the first place.  It wasn’t so bad having clothes strewn all over the floor and a myriad of objects piled on my desk.  Besides, I could never compete with my sister’s room, which has a canopy, and antique-looking desk, and a huge bouquet of gorgeous dry flowers.  It is at moments like this when my lifelong motto “why bother?” really comes in handy.  It's a fantastic motto.  Seriously, I’m thinking of getting that in vinyl on my wall.  But that could be tricky, so maybe I’ll just write it in pen.  But even that sounds too hard.  Eh, why bother?

The “why bother?” phrase is excessively useful and versatile. I can adapt it to accommodate most situations.  For instance:

Q: Sara, do you want to come to my ballet recital?

A:  And sit in an auditorium for an hour?  Why bother?

Q:  Sara, there is a (insert awesome artist here) concert tomorrow and I can get you a ticket for free.  All you have to do is sign this fifty-word document.

A:  You’re asking me to read fifty words and touch your pen with my hand?  Why bother?

Q:  Sara, I’m terminally ill and will die tomorrow.  Would you mind giving the eulogy at my funeral?  I even wrote one that you can use.

A:  So I would have to use my lips and tongue to articulate words for five consecutive minutes?  Why bother?

Anyway, it’s getting late, and I’m reaching the exciting part on my book on tape.  Except it’s actually on my iPod.  I was going to come up with a snappy ending for this blog, but…

Why bother?

Pooped

I'm too tired to blog.  I'm not too tired to watch Criminal Minds or finish my book or eat some cheese or catch a spider for Gertrude.  I'm just too tired to blog.  But I'm trying to blog on a semi-regular basis, so here is a short excerpt from a list of things that make me laugh:

12. My cat
13. Spiderman 3
14. Texas jokes
15. Modern art
16. Novelty toenail clippers

And...I'm done.  Yeah.

MST3K

Okay, first of all, when I said I was taking a break for finals I really meant I was taking a break for finals/family visit/Mystery Science Theater 3000 marathon.  I didn’t mention the other two because I thought they were implied.  Learn to read between the lines, people.

My summer break has been going swimmingly so far (although I have not actually gone swimming yet).  For the past two weeks I have either been playing with my family or cleaning my room.  Sometimes I would multitask by making my family clean my room.  I am happy to report that the family ties are stronger than ever and my room is almost clean.  I mean, you can’t really see the floor, but the closet looks nice.  I believe rooms reveal something about our personalities, and I’m pretty sure my room means I’m outwardly spontaneous but inwardly organized.  Or I’m just messy but good at brushing my teeth.  Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.

I would like to take a moment to thank my followers, whom I love.  If it weren’t for you, I would still be watching Mystery Science Theater 3000, which is a bad, bad way to spend my time.  Or so I’ve been told.  And because I can’t think of a topic today, I’m writing each of you a shoddy poem!  Yay!  I’ll try and mix up the styles a bit, but that might be hard because I really don’t know that much about poetry.  Here we go:

Limerick:

There once was a boy named Sam.

He wanted to eat a big ham.

He caught him a pig,

And he named it Hedwig,

Then he killed it and ate it with “spam”.

Haiku:

Kelli is so nice

And beautiful like the wind

Refrigerator

Tanka (not tonka):

Chrisanne is my friend

Who took creative writing

So she also knows

How many syllables are

Found in a tanka poem

Blank verse:

Melissa is a girl I met

Over Christmas break.

We talked and laughed and ate some food.

Also? Hot-tubbing.

Cinquain:

Laura

Mom, nice

Reading, my, blog

Also makes cookies sometimes

Laurapalooza

Quatrain:

Brittney is in Costa Rica

She left Utah; she went away.

For some reason the ice and snow

Did not in Utah make her stay.

Free Verse

The sun shines dappled light through

Crayons paint the colors of my sad, sad eggbeater

The trees

Good lighting, this makes

Goo-oo-oo-d lighting.

Brianna has.

A camera and she

Summer rain falls on the unhappy

Clown-fairy

Wants to take a

Picture of the lighting

And the tree.

Senryu:

Alyssa

Your name has

Syllables

Epic song:

Brad bad um ba bum bum ba dum

He’s my dad bad um deed um dum dee dum

And the wizards and gnomes

Are dancing to and fro

Drinking magic pine-sap

Beneath the full moon’s glow.

Brad bad um ba bum bum ba  dum

I am glad bad um deed um dum dee dum

And the ritual occasion

Helped them beat an orc invasion

And their plus two magic shields

Suffered only some abrasion

Then Brad read a blog by Sa-a-ra!  (Insert guitar solo)

Epitaph:

My name’s Jess

I am dead.

Took a bullet

To the head.

(Really I was

Underfed)

Are you still reading this?  Why?  Go do something constructive, like watching Mystery Science Theater 3000.  Go on, shoo!