11/4/07

Thor vrs Helpless woman waiting for Princes

OK. OK. Yeah. I always get my fairy tales mixed up because they used to scare the crap out of me. Although, I do relate to the dancing around the fire and stamping my foot in a rage. Chan says it's Rip Van Winkle, but I think I'll go with Sleeping Beauty--no, no, never mind. Wasn't she surrounded by briar's and brambles (like my house now) and had to wait for a man to wake her up? And that let's out Snow White too? Wow. No wonder I didn't tell you guys regular fairy tales; Too many sexual innuendos and helpless woman. I remember having nightmares after reading Hansel and Gretel: Then when Mom stuffed our pockets full of treats before a school outing, I was sure the bus was driving us into the darkest forest, that Mom had given us away, and I was so sorry for reading Gone with the Wind by flash light under my covers until she come up and grabbed the light last night. Whew. Even look at Rock a bye baby. It's so gross that people sing a song to little kids with a wind breaking a branch, and a baby goes splat on the ground, cradle and all. I'm glad I told you other, more gentle stories than were in the books we bought you, like Thor sulking, after fighting other gods with lightning bolts and thunder. (Oh, what a childhood you've had.) But I have learned we do have to wake ourselves up, every other minute. It's an constant art that takes practice.
Ahhhhh, but I'm beginning to think that sleeping is an art form also. You know, like those stretched-out, deep down sleeps after long horse rides? Remember the good tired left over from rainy days, the smell of leather and sagebrush? Ummmmm that sounds as good as eating lobster or watching waves wash up on a beach. Let's write our own fairy tales. I like that scene in 6th sense when Bruce Willis is dead, but he's trying to tell the little boy, who sees dead people, a bedtime story about a little prince who drove , and then drove further, until the kid says, "You haven't read many bed times stories, have you? ----Once Upon a Time . . .

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