Today as I arrived at work and skidded my way through the parking lot that is still covered in sheets of ice, I wondered why we place ourselves in these giant, hulking, pieces of metal and hurtle down the road at speeds of sometimes 70 MILES AN HOUR. I think we must all really have a death wish. Cars are scary and also dangerous, especially with humans behind the wheel. Robots? Still dangerous, but not as much.
I keep thinking how much easier it would be if we all lived back in Little House on the Prairie times. We could just walk to work. Cause you'd only work like a mile away from your house. Or something. And sure . . . if I tried to walk to work on a day like today I'd probably lose a few fingers and possibly a couple toes. But maybe, if I was lucky, Pa would give me a ride in the wagon. Only wasn't it in a wagon accident that Mary went blind? I can't remember. Also, I think one of the other kids fell down a well. Carrie? I didn't like that girl anyway. OK, so I know that prairie times were hard. And now I have completely lost track of my point . . . if I even had one. Which, let's face it, is iffy. I like the word iffy. I don't know why. I'm going to start saying it more. You know what else I'd like to start saying? "Oh my godfathers." Again, I don't know why. But, like, if something shocking happened? Like someone at work fell down in the parking lot? I could be all, "oh my godfathers!" and place my hand over my heart like I was going to faint. I would also like to start saying things like, "he fancies you," or "where is the bloody lift?" OK, let me be honest here . . . what I would really like is to be British. Really British, though, not the fake British I pretend to be sometimes when I'm drunk*.
Alright, I'm cutting myself off from talking. Have a good weekend, Internets, I'll see you Monday.