I Can’t Leave my House
Or Answer the Phone
I’m Going Down Again
But I’m Not Alone
Settling at Last
Accounts of the Soul
This for the Trash
That Paid in Full
As for the Fall
It Began Long Ago
Can’t Stop the Rain
Can’t Stop the Snow
I Sit in my Chair
I Look at the Street
The Neighbor Returns
My Smile of Defeat
I Move with the Leaves
I Shine with the Chrome
I’m Almost Alive
I’m Almost at Home
No One to Follow
And Nothing to Teach
Except that the Goal
Falls Short of the Reach
~ Leonard Cohen
Images: We Heart It
I Often Think the Night
Is More Alive
And More Richly Colored
Than the Day.
~ Vincent Van Gogh
All Images: NASA
Please enjoy this lullaby by John Thursday while Sister Madly is away wreaking havoc on Tallulah’s Wedding.
Thanks again, JT, for making me smile!
This is not my usual cynical raving fare. A lullaby written for Sister Madly and the insomniacs of the world. Inspired by this post:
It must be read while listening to:
Odd Couple by The Dirty Three
Sister Madly and the Bad Kitty
Wide eyed, alone in the dark
The silence of morning before the day starts
Under the covers, you’re still as the dead
‘Cause shadow kitty just jumped on the bed
And you don’t have any pets
Go to sleep
The shadow kitty
It’s 2:20 am
Just go to sleep
Wide awake while the rest of us sleep
Restless and haunted in shadows and sheets
It feels so unfair to be left all alone
In silence and darkness and rattling bones
Go to sleep
The shadow kitty
It’s 2:20 am
View original post 145 more words
The Professors seem to be under the impression that Sister Madly is constantly wandering off, getting lost, getting into trouble, or getting mixed up with psychopaths- in other words, completely incapable of taking care of herself. This is patently untrue; Sister Madly never wanders off- it is always deliberate.
She had a good reason this time: she dropped her keys in the toothpaste bush*, and wasted a few precious moments in their recovery.
*A bush that has an overbearing scent of mint and rosemary, despite the fact that it is made up of neither mint nor rosemary.
Well, they said. That was weird.
Oh, no. Nothing good ever seems to come from that phrase when these turkeys are involved. Unfortunately, Sister Madly couldn’t come up of anything that would be considered unusual even by the Professors’ standards- except that she was running. A typical Sister Madly does not run unless there is something running after her. Or if she just left some zucchini- or some other luxury- on your front porch. ***
(**For your FYI: October 9th was Moldy Cheese Day, in case you were curious about those other ‘luxuries.’ Just be glad that Sister Madly doesn’t know your address.**)
After a quick assessment of the last few minutes, Sister Madly came to the conclusion that this comment had nothing to do with her whatsoever.
But it always does.
What do you mean, what’s weird? Three streetlamps, in a row, went dark just as you approached them- didn’t you notice?
Well, of course she noticed! It’s next to impossible to be anything but aware of the fact that the world has plunged into complete darkness at the exact moment you drop your keys into the toothpaste bush. Sister Madly would have to have been an absolute idiot ten months dead to not have noticed that.
However, what she did not say was that this incident was not her first; in fact, it is something she has experienced now and again throughout her life. And just as she’s about to chalk it up to coincidence, some pattern will emerge that leaves her in awe, such as the time 6 in a row went dark, or the time it was every other light; then, of course, her favorite: a zigzag design down the highway. These were streetlights for the most part, but there has been others here and there- most of which, like the streetlights, turn on automatically once it gets dark and off again with the light.
Therefore, the explanation is a simple one: Sister Madly, at random and without realizing it, turns into a big ball of light.
The question has been broached as to what the
white flibbertigibbet in the above picture is.
Given the aforementioned explanation,
it could very well be Sister Madly.
While not a satisfactory answer, it was the best she could come up with at a moment’s notice. She would like to claim superpowers as much as anyone, but the fact of the matter is that this is not something that Sister Madly can do at will- that, and she’s seen it happen to many other people over the years, including a family member or two. It would be no fun having a superpower that is neither exclusive nor manageable.
Besides, such a talent would be wasted on Sister Madly. She sees no advantage in engulfing the city with momentary darkness one block at a time, not to mention the impractically of having to walk and/or drive past each streetlight in order to carry out this deed. And while it makes sense that she would make the world dark in order to seek vengeance upon the toothpaste bush, up until the moment she lost her keys Sister Madly harbored no ill-will towards the shrubbery.
In the end, that night had little to do with streetlights or the toothpaste bush and more with the fact that Sister Madly could use a narrator in her life, one of those all-knowing, disembodied voices who only meddles when called upon. You see, Sister Madly lives inside her head most of the time, so when she chooses to be out with her friends, goofy though they may be, it’s because she wants a break from herself. She doesn’t want anyone trying to get back in her head after she’s worked so hard to get out. A narrator could save her a whole lot of annoyance, and possibly even be able to explain the streetlight occurrence, which would be a bonus.
Of course, this isn’t always the case; there are moments when Sister Madly engages in meaningful conversation and actually enjoys people; this was just not one of those times.
POST’S THEME SONG: Where the Lights Won’t Shine, Psyched Up Janis
Sister Madly does not need to be baptized- she needs to be exorcised.
It was a day like any other when a benevolent Sister Madly volunteered to participate in the ‘Drench a Wench/Soak a Bloke’ charity event at the Faire; she is, after all, in full support of finding a cure for cancer… or rescuing cats from the streets… or marketing a new potato salad… Whatever charity was to benefit from the event, she was probably in full support of it. Probably.
The rules were simple: for $5 a charitable fella received 5 sponges to fling at a group of women, and those hit by the sponge bestowed upon the charitable fella his choice of either a handshake, a hug, or a kiss. Take a guess which one the charitable fellas were more inclined to choose.
Fortunately, Sister Madly was supplied with lipstick so bright it could be seen from another planet.
After the novelty of bestowing kisses upon those who threw sponges at her face wore off, Sister Madly began planning her exit. There were enough women remaining who enjoyed this type of abuse that her absence would probably go unnoticed- or so she thought. What she hadn’t anticipated was the new crowd now gathering at the foot of the stage, a crowd that was too familiar for comfort. Suddenly, Sister Madly remembered how the word retribution had been uttered to her after having the Dodo arrested…
And to think that only a moment ago, she hadn’t a care in the world.
It wasn’t long after that the bailiff announced that he had a warrant for her arrest for the Distribution of a Controlled Substance. Yes, Sister Madly had been caught trafficking Dum Dums- and to a minor, no less.
Earlier that day, Sister Madly had endured the usual Dum Dum assault, which Skeksis seemed to relish more so than normal. This all took place in front of a young Viking Tot who, upon seeing the candy but unable to reach it, began to cry. No, bawl. Wail. Wail as no barbarian has ever wailed before. A wail that summoned every available Orca to the nearest shoreline. A wail that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sister Madly was a greedy little vixen who had stolen the Viking Tot’s candy.
Take the Dum Dum, kid- take it! Take them all!
Oh, Skeksis- you planned this whole thing, didn’t you? You set her up.
And with that revelation, Sister Madly lunged at the Dodo, taking a flying leap from the stage- and into a pile of soggy, spent tomatoes.*
(*From Tomato Justice, where you pay money for some cheeky creature to insult you, and you seek justice by throwing tomatoes at him.)
At least it’s not Riverdance —
You’re right, Sister Madly: that wasn’t Riverdance. By a long shot.
And now you’re charged with assault as well.
Her response was typical of the situation, grunting like a primordial beast on the verge of discovering fire; even the tomato she tried to throw in his direction merely hung in mid-air before landing on her shoulder and splattering across her cheek. Face it, Lady Marinara: the only thing you have ever successfully thrown was a tantrum.
Doing her best to appear undaunted after her whole ‘Face in the Compost Pile’ incident, Sister Madly crawled out of the tomato heap and, much to their surprise, took off running. The arresting officers did nothing but stare after her, as apparently ‘Resisting Arrest’ had not been invented yet.
It wasn’t until few hours and a pint of something later that Sister Madly was able to track down the Dodo. After a liberal application of atomic lipstick, she lunged at him once again with the same ol’ battle cry:
At least it’s not Riverdance —
And Sister Madly plowed right on past the Old Bird and into a bush.
The gods do not approve of this inept revenge sequence, Sister Madly. Nor do they offer you any sympathy. You do realize, don’t you, that you started this whole thing with your appalling lack of knowledge concerning certain events of the Medieval era? Karma, Sister Madly, karma: first, you belly-flop off a stage in front of hundreds of people, then you throw a tomato at yourself, then you round out the attack by torpedoing right past the Dodo and into a bush.
Perhaps your stealth is not what you assume it to be.
POST’S THEME SONG: Kiss Them for Me, Siouxsie and the Banshees
I don’t know why it should be, I am sure; but the sight of another man asleep in bed when I am up, maddens me ~ Jerome K. Jerome
They say that knowledge is knowing the tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. Sister Madly says that knowledge is knowing that you have a panic button on your key chain; wisdom is not setting it off at 3 AM.
Well, she had a good reason: she wanted to know what it sounded like, and Sister Madly never claimed to be wise.
For the past week or so, Sister Madly has been waking up at precisely 2:20 every morning, and staying awake until after 7 (except on Sunday, when she stayed up until 4 AM- while she may not be wise, she’s been known to outsmart herself on occasion.) A Sister Madly of very little sleep often results in a serious of misfortunes, some of them major, which can be difficult to remedy as naps on comfy department store display beds are generally frowned upon.
On the bright side, it is an improvement over her recent nighttime adventures in sleep paralysis. These always begin with the sound- or rather, the impression of a sound- of something running through the apartment, which would then rudely land on the bed down at her feet. The moment she remembers that she has neither a pet nor a roommate is the moment things start to go down hill. Fast.
Yes, everything is nice and paranormal here.
So it was after several encounters with the Rambunctious Shadow Kitty that Sister Madly decided, albeit unconsciously, that the best way to combat these episodes was to become nocturnal. Rambunctious Shadow Kitty never seems to show up during the day.
Well, you got your wish, Sister Madly. Now what? Late nights were all the rage in your teens, but now that you‘re at the tender age of Over 25- not so much. It was fun to stay up until sunrise in those days, or to sneak in past curfew; but now the most depressing sound in the world is the sound of those birds who start singing outside your window at the crack of dawn. So consider this: is it better to risk sleeping in the dark, or to be awake and wonder what’s inside of it? We all know the the logic that runs through your head at 3 AM.
While a Benadryl/Liquor cocktail has proven to be most effective in the past, Sister Madly all too often wakes up to bizarre scenarios and post-it notes scattered about the apartment, leaving her with many questions about the night before. Once, she had turned all her pictures upside down in their frames and hung them back on the wall (at least, she assumes that was her doing.) How different things are from the midnight adventures of her youth, such as the time Sister Madly & Company terrorized the hotel with a video camera and a lampshade.
Upon finding internal lectures on the evils of nocturnalness to be counterproductive, Sister Madly decided to take herself for a walk. She had somehow convinced herself that she would see the Northern Lights, or hear a late summer cicada, but Mother Nature had other plans- even Praline, the neighborhood cat who always approaches her for tummy rubs had called it a night. It was so unfair.
And there it was: her car, like the rest of the world, asleep and ridiculously happy in the moonlight. She didn’t want her car to be happy; its blissful dreams of winding mountain roads were mocking her, she could feel it- everyone was mocking her with their blatant sleeping. Why can’t Rambunctious Shadow Kitty visit them on occasion?
That’s when it occurred to Sister Madly that she had never in her life hit the panic button on her key chain. She didn’t know what it sounded like, and who knows? She may never get a legitimate reason to find out.* Besides, if Sister Madly’s going to be awake at 3 AM, she’s going to make sure the rest of the world is as well.
(*Again, Sister Madly never claimed to be wise. Also, it was 3 AM, the time when the Rationale sets in.)
And no, it’s not insomnia; Sister Madly is just selectively nocturnal.
POST’S THEME SONG: Curse the Night, the Raveonettes