Thursday, 27 November 2014
Somewhere Over the Scatterbrain...
Today is a fuzzy headed day.
I feel like the thoughts in my head are a whirlwind of black birds (not necessarily blackbirds or even crows) spinning in a giant vortex, lifting up high till an errant thought tips the precarious balance and they're dashed against the floor. They'd be so haphazardly scattered, they'd actually make a pattern. In the same way you look at clouds and see dragons, you'd look at the remnants of my mind's meanderings and see...
What would you see?
Smiley faces? Hell? Chocolate chip cookies?
Who knows. Not I, said the fly.
I don't know what's got my head so muxed ip. Today is just another day. There's been no dramas and everyone has been fairly relaxed. Almost comatose in some cases. Edna Dullwitch (or 'De Witch' as she's obviously called) did try to steal Boris's (real name's Ben but he likes to put on a Russian accent - for 'intrigue') crusty roll at lunch, I suppose. That's something like a drama, but once he'd pulled a fistful of curly, frizzy hair from her head, she replaced the roll and scuttled off into the corner to whimper. Boris put the wrenched clump of fuzz up his sleeve for safe keeping.
I don't particularly want to know why he'd keep it. Perhaps he's building a replica Edna in his room - or even rebuilding the existing one. Maybe he's claiming various body parts as time goes on. He'd start off small - the hair, a discarded fingernail and so on. Then he'd move on to bigger prizes. An arm. A leg. She wouldn't notice one or two limbs missing, would she? Nah. It'll be reet.
Apart from that, however, the hours have been as lazy as the patients. It was 8:00 am about fourteen days ago.
Perhaps that's why my thoughts are off kilter. Maybe they're wanting to have a wiz around to try and coax time into joining in. Or they're hoping to suck up the minutes and send them spinning into the future, dragging us along with it.
Or, even, what if my thoughts are Dorothy's tornado? What if they are building up to snatch houses, girls, dogs and fussy old women on bicycles and throw them into other lands where they save the day, save the munchkins and save a fortune in fuel costs (what with broomsticks and flying monkeys).
Or, they could simply be having a fuzzy headed day. They could simply be having a day where they need to whip themselves up like a dog having a mad five minutes, tail chasing and pigeon worrying.
Still, I think I'll have a look out of the window.
There might be a rainbow.