Dear World, Cont'd

Dear world,

So there I am, some time this afternoon, fast asleep on the couch. My feet are tangled up in my coat, my hood's down over my eyes, and I'm dreaming about boating on a sunlit lake. I'm sort of cradled in the boat, curled on my side half-asleep, and the sun's coming through my eyelids in a cozy red haze. I've got one arm flung over the side. The water's lapping at my fingers. Lap, lap, lap. Slrrrrrrp. It tickles me with its little whiskers, and--

--wait a second. Since when did lakes have whiskers?

I crack open one eye, and there's Stella licking my fingers. Again. I forgot to twist-tie her cage.

"Go home," I groan. I sit up and flop back down again, head spinning. "I'm not chasing you today."

Then, I chase Stella round in circles for half an hour, only to fall back on the couch dead beat. I spend the rest of the afternoon alternately snoozing and being disturbed by the telephone, whose ringer doesn't seem to have an "Off" setting.

Anyhow, world, this treatment isn't fair. I'm trying to get back on my feet, sort of thing--conserve my strength, and all. It's working for the most part, but I could do without the rat-chasing and the incessant telephone calls. Also, when I woke up this evening, there was a commercial on the telly with deformed singing rats on it. It was a sarnie commercial. I found the idea of a rat sarnie most disturbing. I'm sure Stella wouldn't've gone for it much either, if she'd been awake.

Your humble servant,

--Socar Myles

PS - Please invent a fruit that tastes like a gooseberry but has the texture of a peach. I think I'd enjoy that a lot.