omg imaginary

scenes from the fire boss's imagination:

(1) friday afternoon, walking to the market: reactionary boys start fighting. the f.b. throws a sheet cake with vanilla icing on top of them and shouts, "ridiculous!" the f.b. laughs to herself on the sidewalk.
(2) saturday morning, asleep: chased by werewolf, who is actually louisa. werewolf/louisa bites fire boss on the hand. it hurts. later, rossma says, "i think you're right."
(3) saturday morning: indulging touch of hypochondria, youthful death from cancer. conducts post-mortem soliloquy. mourns self tearfully in the bathtub.
(4) sunday morning, asleep: as usual, nightmares are about being trapped in horror movies. this time it is some sort of scifi, alternate universe shit, simultaneously watching and being a member of the small band of heroes FIGHTING TO SURVIVE. return to dream reality only to fall prey to horror-conceit of IT'S NOT OVER YET.

the mind goes on entertaining itself with fictional emotion, which don't cost a thing, except of course that on monday morning, facing the prospect of getting down to business, one has no better tools for busting through the brick wall of reluctance than one did as a wee lass. in fact, fewer, because my older bro cannot come around with his imaginary machete and galvanize me into picking up all my My Little Ponies. if i could willfully put my heart into this crappy office chair i would, but the will and the heart stand with their pistols drawn in the eternal misty morning of my work ethic. in the meantime i shall paint a moustache on my self-pity. ridiculous!