Brazen Spiders and Shiny Grass

I'm sitting here thinking about how it already is the middle of August and soon it will be fall, then winter, and then 2019. Time is always the same, but it never feels like it.

I've got a lot of thoughts in my head, and I can't keep them straight. All this stuff I want to write with this feeling if I don't I'll just explode. I think my brain exploded last night and every time I closed my eyes, it was a lost thought trying to get out. A bit melodramatic I know, but perhaps there is no other way to say it. I read news stories, comments and high brow literature and if that isn't enough, I think about imaginary people and what they're doing. I think about the poetry

I should be writing; even if it is about Indiana Jones spiders that come swinging on their fine butt floss in front of my computer. They are tiny- those baby spiders. You can barely see them, they are like misplaced periods. Indiana Jones' theme song plays in the background, at least in my head. Because what adventure is he on now, swinging to and fro? And later on he will find himself on my arm, tickling my invisible hairs,  and I'll spend an hour looking for him, lost in the jungle he is, and then I squash him. I actually feel kind of bad because he is so tiny, but there's nothing on my arm interesting to him when there is a whole house to explore. Maybe he was the odd man out. Who knows?

Yesterday, the rain fell in a criss cross pattern like an apple pie lattice. I think I'm the only one who seen it, no one else mentioned it. Then it stopped and that was all. At least the grass grew another quarter inch. I wish there was astroturf instead, but that is kind of stupid because grass is real and maybe the only thing that is when my brain goes haywire. They say walking bare foot on the earth centers you. When I walk barefoot in my grass, I either step on a stone and curse under my breath or almost fall in hole, left by rotting roots. Never do I feel the oneness with the universe.

So there you have it. Another day in the history books, another day online. When some three hundred years from looks on this, they will know there was grass and I didn't enjoy it like I should have.