Sunday Hum-Day?

Yawn. Stretch. Tumble down the hallway, turn on the gas burner for the water kettle, wait for the scream of the steam to alert you to its readiness. Place water into cup with strong black tea; steep until dark enough to ruin your teeth; add raw sugar and cream; stir... Sip, then dip back into your cavern of a bedroom to savour the remnants of a morning's awakening.

Sigh. It's cloudy outside. Shall I snuggle or brace for an outing in several hours when I'd rather stay home for the tease of rain showers?

That's right. No coffee for me. Not since 1986. I once had to pull myself off of ceilings after drinking decaf. That wee bit of coffee-based caffeine sent my adrenalin pounding like drips of Meth in a darkened drug-enhanced stupor. So why then am I able to drink dark, black tea riddled with additions I didn't need or use when I was drinking fresh-ground coffee in the days way before Starbucks even knew it would exist without bouncing off the walls? Dunno. It's just so. I can drink 10 cups of strong tea every day without the effects of one cup of regular or decaf coffee. Odd. "Studies show" that black/caffeine-riddled tea is stronger than many Lattes strung out within the same time period. Gawd. I may as well lend my body to science one day...if they will have me, that is.

While I wait for that fateful rejection that I assume will arrive after I'm no longer alive, due to all the jive my material self has faced on the shelf of true medical and non-medical experimentation, along with inadvertent radiation from exploding microwave ovens in my face and other twists of fate, I'll simply sip with the lip of my quipish nature to further infuse my decadent behaviour on a day in which Christians bow down to their Saviour.

Oh Sunday, the one day, that the kind of heart go to church; hypocrites go to perch; ministers wail and search for something to say that will save the day of the many who may want salvation to sway the willows of their pillows of comfort in the void of the ever-flowing torrents of all one warrants in the promise of a grander land beyond the hand of what this earth has granted its  grandiose "Netherland" - do you understand?

What just happened? Was I a-rappin'? Am I graspin' for some kind of truth? Is this real or did I steal the rhythm of the hoodie seal of approval that I'm a "real one", a bone-fide "chill" one, not an ill one, just your true blood or no tribe or pride-won. Hun? Or huh?

Well, from the sound of my voice today, those with whom I will brunch may say I either lit up the field or created a shield for true conversation to move on a course oh-so-smooth - within or without the innate groove.

Yawn.

How pithy.

Music may be the only salvation right about now, yes?