thursday june

the coffee pot smashed into a million smitherines. today was to be a thermos day. it could have been a sleep day for it was surely a sleep night. my bed was a cloud and ferried me to the stratosphere, no, make that the ionosphere. when my head hit the pillow, my bed hovered around the room then bolted out the open window, through the rain, over the arch, and toward the moon. The sheets flapped in the wind like Old Glory over the Potomac. Ducks and Wild Turkeys seemed to be flying backwards. My bed was breaking every aviation record involving furnature, matresses, and linen. The thread count on my sheets increased a hundredfold. My comforter started her own afternoon talk show and women's magazine. Birds chirped, then I was shaving and making a mind altering pot of coffee. However, the coffee pot did not want to wake me up. It woke me down.