The Day

What a day! I mean, seriously, phew... it's been quite a day. Yes indeed. A day. Sigh. Catching my breath for a moment here... after the excitement of the day. Some day. Some day, indeed.

At least, I think it was a day. I mean, I know it was a day - I'm just starting to doubt whether it was really as mentionworthy as I once believed, back when I started this post, back when I was young and naive. If I had to describe the day with two adjectives with which I could also describe myself, I'd probably use... ummm... wait can I use a vegetable as an adjective? Oh never mind never mind I don't need to. Dynamic and momentous. Yeah! Rizrock! Wait, "dynamic" and "momentous" were the words. Not "yeah" and "rizrock." Sometimes I can be confusing. Ha! I should have used "confusing" as one of the adjectives! But only for me. Not for the day. The day wasn't confusing at all, from what I remember...

It was definitely a dynamic day, there's no doubt about that. The things that happened were just wowee. Plus zowee. To equal woweezowee. The first event really set the mood, what with the explosions and the colors. The second happening was a bit more chill, but still totally thrilling in that laid back sort of way Christian Bale does so well. And then the avalanche of activity struck, throwing me this way and that, pummeling thousands of metaphorical mountain goats on the way down, down to the end of the day, all the way down. I mean, the day just wouldn't let up, not even for a second. I couldn't have stopped for crushed goat stew even if I'd wanted to, even if it wasn't metaphorical. Not that I did want to, you know, cuz metaphors are generally too saucy for me. I prefer the more zesty taste of personification.

I guess to describe the day as "momentous," I really should first clarify the definition. I mean to say that the day lasted longer than a moment, but that it had it's fill of separately inspiring moments. It was an amalgamation of single glimpses of what the world could be like if everyone loved peace and peace loved everyone and they both loved a third party the same amount.

Come on, don't try to be strict with the moments thing. "Momentous" can mean a lot of moments, okay? This was my day, anyway, so back off. Nobody shared the drama, cuz everyone else experienced the day differently, and much more suckily. My day was the best. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was. No, I know it was. Screw indecision. The day kicked serious ninja butt. And it did so without suffering a scratch. My day was awesome, in the best way awesome can be, which is like really good.

The day is over now - it ended yesterday. Come to think of it, even though the day finished off itself unharmed, there's no way that I could have gotten out the same. The constant intensity of the awesomeness, swirling around my body, surely must have done some damage. I'm starting to worry. Let me wiggle my toes for a second... Huh, I think they're all there. It's hard to tell just from wiggling, to be honest. Oh well. I don't really care about toes, especially not enough to take off my slippers and look. Let me check some other body parts. Arms... alright. Legs... fine. Stomachs... okay. Ears... gasp! Yup, my ears and my gasp-o-lung are both still intact, too. Astonishing. Not only was the day totally amazing, but it's even theoretically possible that I could healthily live through it all over again! I knew my body was good. I just didn't know it was this good.

Hold on. Seriously, just hold on! This is serious, so hold on.

I never thought of that. My gods, I never thought of that at all. It's possible that electricity tricked me. I didn't really do much yesterday, other than all that insanely cool stuff, so I don't remember whether I went outside or not. What if I didn't, and I actually got up really late, and all my clocks got switched by some time pervert, and.... and... my day was actually a night!

I'm shivering. This is really bad. I mean, this is worse than killing people and stuff.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Remember when I played Harvest Moon? Remember? Harvest Moon is a farming simulation, and I built a greenhouse in the game so that I could maximize profit and cash-crop the balls out of my competitors, and the reason the greenhouse made so much sense and money was because time didn't move when I worked inside the greenhouse.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I might still be in the greenhouse. I might never have left. I might never have even had a day. I might never have even had a moment for you to nerd out over the definition of "momentous" about. (I still hate you for that.)

All that jamming rockingness... all that killer rockocity... I don't know what I'd do if it didn't exist. It was all so vivid... the day. So real. Like a day I'd never want to forget, not even if I'd never remembered the day to begin with. Sigh.... that day. What am I going to do about that day... the day...

I will kill time.

That's not a metaphor. I'm going to do it.

My computer's battery light has been flickering on and off over the last few days, depending on where I place my laptop and how bendy the plug cord is. I'm typing this now the only way I can, with a slab of trout placed 45 degrees between the motherboard and my stomach. The plug cord is pulled taut around the necks of two small children. They're still breathing enough to send out the automated "eye enlargement" e-mails I pay them for, but unfortunately their computer is having a similar problem to mine. I'm going to need another stream fish and some more necks, stat!

These eyes are nice, but wouldn't they look better WAY BIGGER?

Originality is impossible. I'm pretty sure that everything I just wrote has been imagined at some point in time by somebody else in history. I still dream that I'll come up with something that nobody else ever has (like maybe a theology based around the nonexistence of God? eh? eh?), but I'm not holding out hope. I'm consigned to the fact that I'd be best off fitting into a role society has already deemed as awesome, like starfleet commander or something. I'd be pretty good at giving orders to petty officers, and I could even try to work the monotony of peacetime military ops into a starting point for creativity. Imagine...

Commander Me: Petty Officer Collins!
P.O. Collins: Yes, sir?
Commander Me: I'm tired of looking at your human features. Find a cat, and replace yourself with it.
P.O. Collins: But sir... There aren't any cats aboard this ship, and the nearest feline-inhabited planet is over three parsecs away.
Commander Me: Are you questioning my orders? Take the auxiliary craft to MewMew Beta immediately and bring me back a damn cat!
P.O. Collins: But sir... The auxiliary craft is the only emergency vehicle functioning after this morning's food poisoning disaster.
Commander Me: Are you questioning my orders? Make sure you bring back some kitty litter, too. I think we already have the litter trays.
P.O. Collins (sighs, salutes, turns to leave): Yes, sir...
Commander Me: Oh, and Petty Officer Collins...
P.O. Collins (turns back, salutes again, no sighing): Yes, sir?
Commander Me: I'm just being creative!

The crew would laugh, and I'd probably get a lot of high fives. We'd travel through a few galaxies, sipping astro-nectar and talking about the days before we arbitrarily left Earth. Scientists had proven long ago that there was nothing in space worth discovering. Planets like MewMew Beta, as cute as they may sound, actually suck. Hard. We just left Earth because we felt like it. Ha! How young and naive we were! Those were the days... maybe...

And then, one Wednesday, as our ship would be floating towards a supernova as boring and inconsequential as the others, an unknown object would be sucked up into our ventilation ducts. I'd order Petty Officer Collins to go fetch it, because I really don't like looking at his human features and want him out of the command deck as frequently as possible. After a few minutes he'd return - with his stupid mustache and googly eyes - and he'd hand me what we'd discovered.

Picture of Collins, with a suspiciously large number of medals for a petty officer...

In my hands would be a screenplay. The screenplay would be dated centuries before I was born, of course. And the screenplay would start with "That's," ramble on a bit, and end with "cupcake." Reading through it, I'd become drenched in cold sweat as the realization of the reality upon me dawned. Losing electrolytes fast and sweatily, my body would demand sugar.

Commander Me: Petty Officer Collins!
Petty Officer Collins: Yes sir?
Commander Me: You're still annoyingly human. Do something worthwhile and get me something sweet. Get me a Pixy Stick. Or maybe some JujuBees. Or maybe some raspberries covered with cream, but a sweet cream that's not too thick. For God's sake, just get me anything, please, anything that's not a cupcake.