If I only had a Brain, doo de doo de doo doo doo!

While going through my outbox today I found some interesting tidbits that Outlook deemed necessary to "save as draft."  

I cannot say when, or even why, I created the following - nor even if I've posted them before - but - for your viewing pleasure/horror - I present to you - DRAFTS:

     For some reason my hair, even though it is harnessed in a very pretty
pressed black leather headband, is still revolting.
    Little stray follicles are standing on end and sticking straight up like
soldiers lining up for battle.
    The Battle of a Bad Hair Day.

       Coming to work today - I'm a bit groggy - as if I've slept through a very
important event and am quite pissed about it - but can't recall what that
even was or may have been.
    In this hazy fog of semi-consciousness I veer into the turning lane and
stop abruptly.
    A tiny white man, baked brown from days in the sun, and wearing tight
jogging shorts, is gently loping through the street.  Not on the sidewalk.
Not on the curb.  Nope.  He's jogging along the yellow lines - in the middle
of the street.
    I stare, oblivious to the horns of others, people more determined to end up
at work than I, and watch his bobbing head disappear down Third Avenue.
    I wonder - what kind of person does it take to, without fear, jog down the
middle of a busy street littered with bad drivers from neighboring Ohio and
Kentucky?  And more so - what kind of person does it take to don tiny red
shorts while jogging - after the age of eighty?
    At any rate, it was something to see and a sight that shall be seared onto
my brain for quite some time...


Twas Friday the Thirteen,
And all through the land,
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a Lawyerman,
When all of a sudden,
there arose such a  clatter,
And I bolted from my desk,
To see what was the matter,
And what to my bleary eyes did appear,
But the littlest associate,
In work up to her ears.
I rushed to her aid
and presented her my hand,
Wanting to help her,
In this dreary lawyer land,
Instead she looked at me evilly,
And with one squinted eye,
And said "begone with you,
For I know you will buy,
too much stuff on your trip ,
And leave me here, you selfish, mean lil' sh... person!

(This one I'm pretty sure I've posted before...)  :

I have self-diagnosed an affliction that’s been plaguing me for years:  I
have Nocturnal ADD.  Yes, horrors of horrors, every night/early morning I am
awoken by the sound of music playing in my head, half-finished thoughts,
story ideas swirling in broken scenes, and things I should have said during
prior conversations.  In this torrential tornado of hyper happenings - I see
images, too.  Bits of the last Harry Potter movie, imagined instances in
Half-Blood Prince, scenes from Joss Whedon’s series, and childhood shows
that were near and dear to me swirl by in a mess of mixed-up media.
    I figure that, as I sleep, my brain begins to plump with unreleased
thoughts and ideas pushing at my consciousness.   This pushing eventually
turns to full-on ramming at the side of lobes.  Eventually, the mind takes
over and wakes me from a deep, dreamless sleep and then prevents me from
getting back to REM by forcing me, head-first, into a vat of dreams where
Harry Potter is casting me in his new movie starring Tucker from Disney’s
Flash Forward and where I will be wearing only a furry, Chewbacca-looking
towel for protection from the elements since we are to be filming atop an
iceberg.  I have a large number of lines, but no time to memorize so my best
bud, Tiffany will be off-stage prompting me while wearing a monkey on her
head and fighting off the vampires, Buffy-style, that keep trying to touch
it.   Eventually I get in front of the camera which looks more like the
Leaning Tower of Pisa, and start to sing words to a Lena Horne song.  I win
an Oscar made of Cheese for my efforts...