Spring Cleaning

Mood: Fantabulous!
Music: James Blunt - You're Beautiful

I have just involved myself in one of those activities that (for some reason) are exactly like saying: "Hey! You! Start a rumor about me!" When in fact, my behaviour was completely innocent.

I happened to be cleaning my room - and I don't just mean your average dusting. Ohhh, no. I mean fearlessly delving into the unknown, way down deep into the very soul of my bedroom. (That is, if my bedroom had a soul.) Anyways, I was doing that when I ran into some, shal we say... unfavourable mementos of which my keen feminine logic demanded must be disposed of. Immediately. By means of fire.

So I promptly whipped out my trusty Ritualistic Cauldron of Flame and set to work cleansing myself of the newly-resurfaced contamination which had tainted me for far too long.

It was fantastic. The only problem is that, by it's very nature, fire tends to consume oxygen pretty quickly. And when a fire happens in a can (excuse me, Ritualistic Cauldron of Flame) that has no holes poked in it, one will inevtiably be left with a rich plume of smoke, not unlike that which follows:


And what may infact have been a harmless act of spiritual purification for me, may in appearance have looked remarkably similar to the use illicit substances to my neighbour Sharon (a.k.a. Mod Flanders), whom I noticed was observing me with some measure of scrutiny through her kitchen window.

Umm, yeah. I can't really explain this one...

Anywhoo, the ritual now complete, I have come to a higher level of self-actualization and in doing so, have also done the world a favour by ridding it of a small volume of bad poems by a mildly-psychotic ex who shal remain nameless. Because I'm good like that.

Most of the ashes were scattered in my backyard, along with the remains of the pet butterfly that I had in grade seven.

The rest, I returned to sender.

Ta Da.