(Pardon the grammar, but these are just quick write-ups of my dreams.
They are not essays or great works of literature. Just dreams, folks. Don't be hatin'.)

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Late for Chicken


I'm at my parents' house in Wells. It's a work day, and I am going to be very very late (I live and work 1.5 hrs from their house).

I try to get ready, but just can't seem to get myself together.

HOURS go by. At this point I am telling my parents that if I can get out of the house at that moment I will only have to work until 8pm.

BUT I don't.

Eventually I'm in a car in a very snowy, LONG LONG LONG driveway. It takes me a moment to get the car moving. I start backing up.

The long, long, long driveway is very icy and I start to pick up speed and cannot stop. I'm approaching the road and trying to slam on the brakes.

Right as I'm about to careen into oncoming traffic, the brakes work and I slam into a stopped position.


Somehow I'm back inside my parents' house and it's the following morning. I'm determined to not be as late as the day before.

I'm making myself some fried chicken breast on the stove top.

I tell my brother he can have some, too.

I grab a breast and snap it in half to make sure it's cooked. There's bone through it. And it's pink.

Ian's already eating some, and I tell him it's raw and he doesn't seem to care.

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