Big, Mangy Chairboogers

I wasted nearly half an hour, today, trying to remember what you call those strings you use to switch on light-bulbs that aren't connected to wall panels. You get them in basements, toilets, all those sorts of places. Unfinished places. Places without proper fixtures. I settled for "light-pulls," in the end. If I hadn't just explained what a light-pull was, would you have known? If I told you I saw a lightbulb, but couldn't find a light-pull, or that the light-pull was hidden by a pillar, would you know what I meant?

I'll probably have to rewrite today's two thousand words, in their entirety. My head was off somewhere else, I think. I couldn't get a rhythm going. I couldn't get the sentences to...to sound good together. It was all choppy, sort of thing. It took me seven hours and ten minutes to do four hours' work, badly. And then, I read Pharyngula, and couldn't find a single thing to make fun of.

I mean, Christ--Arthur got a dead spider in his mouth, today, and I was hard-pressed to make it exciting. This isn't just an off-day: this is--I don't know what this is. I could be in the arms of Death, and I'd tell you a rousing spider story. Maybe I died in my sleep last night, and haven't quite realised it yet. Maybe I watched too much TV over the weekend, and my grey cells ran out my ears.

I think I've been using too much promethazine hydrochloride. These bloody allergies.... The pollen levels have been through the roof, just lately. If I sneeze one more time, I think my eyes will pop out. And the cure's just as bad as the disease. I took twenty milligrams last night, and I still feel all spazzy and restless. Maybe I will try something different. I saw an ad for nasal spray on TV. Only, the idea of sticking anything up my schnozz--that's revolting. It's the first step down a slippery slope. You start with sprays and inhalers, and then it's cocaine, and the next thing you know, you work at a newspaper office, staying up till midnight and wiping boogers on the underside of your chair.

(What?)

That right there, that was a perfect example of what was popping up all day. Non sequiturs, sort of thing. (Back in high school, I had an English teacher who couldn't spell "non sequitur." She put an "o" where the second "u" ought to go. She also had Lego hair.) Anyhow, I kept putting things like "Arthur got off the elevator. It was dark. He could see speckly shadows on the floor--dead flies in the lamp." It was terrible. Nonsensical. Absurd.

I think I'll avoid the Phenergan tonight, unless both my nostrils get stuffed shut. This state of mind is...is... (I can't think of the word) ...is (bootless? Useless? Undesirable?)

...is pants.