i'm a fuzzy bunny

This, like numerous things that I throw down and never look at again, was written while looking out of my window at whatever was consuming me at the time. You can only play video games, listen to music, and sleep for so long until you have to find something else to pass the time. Since reading can make me sick at times, I just stare out the window and write. Sometimes, when I look down, I like what I see. Other times all I find is ‘I’m a fuzzy bunny’ repeated two hundred times. Maybe I should try it in the daylight and see what happens...

Hello October. Call me rocktober. I was just invited to the last minute national symposium. It's supposed to be sort of an on-site support staff meeting - which will really amount to a gopher and minute-taker. Fine by me, can't refuse anything that pays at this point, dignity be damned. But I think it is really to put me smack dab in the middle of some stimulating conversation with some people who think they’re inspiring to make me think again about myself and my role within all that. I know why I am not in bed after such a whirlwind and rather sleepless month.

October, Where have you been all my life? Travelling, you say? Where did you go? Australia? How was it? I hear they call you May over there. October, all the good things happen in your month so why must you do these things to me everytime. No, instead lets not talk of love. No. Fine. These kids were making out on the swings this one night as the moon glowed and the clouds loitered and the hops of the crickets became slower and shorter. They were as passionate as they were angry. They’d swing for a little, laugh and then stop. They laughed some more, run, and fall over to roll. With their love for one another they didn’t care about the wood chips or the grass getting into their hair. Or poo. Yes, poo, October. Thats right. Which you said there was none of, thank you. There was only happiness, discovery and unfathomed joy like never before. Do you know what it was? What? Last time I heard it was you, October. The friend to the everyman. Celebrations and festivals. Cornucopias of smorgasborgias. The only time when its ok to nail an ear of half shucked dried up corn on your door. Hay in your yard or squash on your stoop or candy corn in your poop.

I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny. I’m a fuzzy bunny.

One of the worst things about thinking is that, most of the time, you either record it so you can reflect on how much of an idiot you were at the time or you don’t bother and run the risk of losing it forever. Therefore, one must be prepared at all times to drag their ass out of bed and write something down haphazardly in the dark. This, along with many others, was conceived half asleep and intermingled with thoughts of enjoying ice cold milk.