Moving in progress.
Right on cue, thunderstorms.
Summertime in the South. Sandwiches everyday. Iced dirty chai. Sticky skin. I feel like a walking beehive.
Last night, I dreamed that I was handling a wild beaver, trying to rescue it. Of course, wild things don’t always understand that you’re trying to help. I was afraid it would bite me. While I wrestled with it, I made up a song about how I was trying to help and it shouldn’t bite me. It went something like, “Beaver, don’t bite me with your big ol’ teeth / I’m jus’ tryin’ ta help you outta your fix / An’ once this is done / You can go back to havin’ fun / Better than ever before”. It was a country song, obviously.
I guess I was so worried that I woke myself up, then I tried very hard to remember the whole song. The above account is all I can remember.