Apparently, my body’s new way of coping with stress is to partially wake up in the middle of the night and write either really nonsensical poems or stupid little notes that are actually parts of my dreams.

Either that or I’m writing stuff during the day that I’m totally blocking out. But I’m pretty sure I’m doing it almost in a sleepwalking (sleepwriting?) fashion.

I think that’s how the motorboat boobs and this weird poem both originated.



What sayest thou? Speak!

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