I drank it as if it were holier than Coke.
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Hold on, now. Don't think I'm crazy, entirely, but I have on three separate occasions dreamed things that have then occurred. In actual life. The first involved a childhood pet, Scruff, who had gone to live with my grandparents at Fish Camp, a family compound surrounded my cabins, ponds, a basic swimming pool, and a torturously long vegetable garden, where we gathered each summer for a fish fry and the annual task of grading blueberries and other such fruit; several on my father's side were in the fruit farm industry; after an afternoon of grading blueberries, there is no child on...
I don't actually sleep very well, without you, except sometimes.
Although I hate being sick, I will admit to loving the way my voice sounds when I get congested. It's deep, it's sexy, raspy, as if I've actually been a smoker for many years, and on a dare, decided to smoke an entire pack at one time, before quitting. I feel like I'm nasally the love child of Bea Arthur and James Colburn. At least, in my mind, that's how I sound. In reality, I'd told be the love child of Bea Arthur and Charles Nelson Reilly, everybody knows that.
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