Periodic waves of boredom are overtaking me. I walk around the house with my head lolled back like a Pez dispenser, my knees rising high like a FAMU Drum Major then stomping down in protest. It may be pouring rain outside, but what I want is a hurricane, a plague of locusts, a troupe of Rainbow Gatherers camped in the lawn- some predicament requiring immediate action.
It is Folk Festival weekend, and the outlook is swampy. Squatch and his dear, sweet daughter are planning to camp on a sandbar along the Suwanee river. I envy the excitement they will have as they scramble higher up the bank in the middle of the night fighting for their lives as the fire ants swarm up their limbs also seeking higher ground. How come they get to have all the fun?
I need a little rock, maybe some roll.
In the meantime, saddle up.