happiness is a warm gun

bang bang, shoot shoot.

thus I sang this morning as I happily skipped upstairs armed with a mop, a bucket, and a few other assorted items. thus I skipped that my glass bowl, my pretty blue Heart of Glass, slipped out of my pocket and bounced once, twice, thrice on the hard marble steps, then crashed into a million pieces when it hit the bottom.

matrix-like I tracked its endless descent and shatteration. my hiccups started right then, and I haven't been able to stop it yet. it's past midnight. HIC.

you know what the allman brothers would have done, in this case? do you think they would have sat down on the steps and started crying because they aren't allowed even one minute of complete happiness? would they have contemplated the exquisite irony of this little incident? NO WAY. they would have rolled a joint, smoked it, and then gone out to get a new bowl.

that's what I did.