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Instead of sleeping last night, I read Stephen King's Dreamcatcher for awhile. Then I got up and played Burning Monkey Freecell. Then back to the book. Then back to Freecell. This went on for awhile until around 8:30, when I impulsively dressed and slipped out with a discman playing Godspell. I was in a very lyrical, pastoral, musical theatre sort of mood. I walked down the hill to the park. In my head I ran through my imaginary production of Godspell.

Mark drew my imaginary cast to my side with his imaginary horn and his "Prepare Ye". He then baptized me and I sweetly sang "Save the People" back to him. Linn, dressed in 70's New York garb of her own making, sang "Day By Day" to me; Kitana, in flowing hippie-clown robes, vamped up "Turn Back O Man". My blue Dave shoes, not terribly suited for hiking, sparkled with dew and mud. Kirsten, nonplussed by the state of my shoes, led the whole cast in a rousing rendition of "Bless the Lord" as Rynn and Andrew pranced to and fro with tambourines. I walked past a softball diamond crowded with fat geese, and Matt turned out an apologetic rendition of "Light of the World", with Crissy (she's in my production now {g}) and Rynn backing him up, as though to make up for the lack of true Goose in my imaginary biblical adventure. Mark and I soft-shoed to "All for the Best"; dew and bits of grass flew off my shoes as I imaginarily tapped across the path. I glideded softly under a clump of trees as we all joined hands across my mind and circled Cheryl, draped in violet gauze for "All Good Gifts". (Andrew accompanied on recorder.) Finally, I had to turn back (oh, man) and it was with heavy, plodding feet that I had to fight the evil Pharisees with my angry rendition of "Alas For You". Gina calmed me with "By My Side", flanked by Kirsten and Matt. Much cheered, I skipped... panted... back up the hill to Mint Manor, one arm around imaginary Crissy and the other around imaginary Kitana for "Beautiful City". Then things became sad. As I reached the house, Mark was preparing my imaginary cast for my impending death with his haunting "On the Willows". Not in the mood to be crucified, I reached home just in time to throw down my discman, grab a Diet Coke, and join my imaginary cast for premature bows.
You should have been there.

It's good you're not here right now, though. I kind of smell.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:58 AM | shower me with attention