A dragon is looking down on me. I can read in its unmoving eyes the disappointment it surely must feel as it watches me eat yet another chocolate. I can't help it, though, 80% of my swiss blood is made of chocolate. The 20% left are 15% incomprehensible movies and 15% bad mathematical puns. As I get up, I scoop the dragon, fiddling with its plastic wings. I have to find Sir Dragon a name. I give me 20 seconds to think about it, because you would expect a 16 years old to do something else than finding a name for a plastic toy. A nice plastic toy, but a child relic nonetheless.
"Jody MacSmokey" I whisper, breaking the quiet of my bedroom. It is a female name, and that dragon looks male. I wonder how poeple managed to make mythical creatures fit in our male/female categorization. How can I say that this dragon looks male, even if I obviously have never seen a real dragon and therefore should not be able to tell the difference between dragons' gender, if such a thing exist at all? I decide to stop further musing, because first, I will never be able to find an answer before my bedtime and second, I really need to do something productive. Like googling how to become president. In 19 steps, and with pictures.
Oh well, one can't be president of the United States of America if younger than 35 years old. Also, in order to have the best chance to enter the government, I should be 55 years old, married, have children, shave my still-non-existant beard and be born in Virginia. Since I don't fit in any of these categories (exept for the beard, or lack thereof) my chances at being part of the Oval Office are pretty small. Also, I am not american. So much for my promising career in politics.
What to do now? I put on my headphones and turn the music on. The distorted sound of an electric guitar greets me. And as far as musical instruments' greetings go, this one is quite good.
I really want to lie down on my bed now, but I managed to put my hair up in a beautiful bun, one the likes of which I will never be able to do again, and so I really don't want to mess it up. Even if nobody will be able to see it before tomorrow, meaning I will have slept on it, meaning I will have to rearrange it. Meaninig there isn't a good excuse for me not to lie down. Laziness, maybe? Am I really that down the path of crazy
"Jody MacSmokey" I whisper, breaking the quiet of my bedroom. It is a female name, and that dragon looks male. I wonder how poeple managed to make mythical creatures fit in our male/female categorization. How can I say that this dragon looks male, even if I obviously have never seen a real dragon and therefore should not be able to tell the difference between dragons' gender, if such a thing exist at all? I decide to stop further musing, because first, I will never be able to find an answer before my bedtime and second, I really need to do something productive. Like googling how to become president. In 19 steps, and with pictures.
Oh well, one can't be president of the United States of America if younger than 35 years old. Also, in order to have the best chance to enter the government, I should be 55 years old, married, have children, shave my still-non-existant beard and be born in Virginia. Since I don't fit in any of these categories (exept for the beard, or lack thereof) my chances at being part of the Oval Office are pretty small. Also, I am not american. So much for my promising career in politics.
What to do now? I put on my headphones and turn the music on. The distorted sound of an electric guitar greets me. And as far as musical instruments' greetings go, this one is quite good.
I really want to lie down on my bed now, but I managed to put my hair up in a beautiful bun, one the likes of which I will never be able to do again, and so I really don't want to mess it up. Even if nobody will be able to see it before tomorrow, meaning I will have slept on it, meaning I will have to rearrange it. Meaninig there isn't a good excuse for me not to lie down. Laziness, maybe? Am I really that down the path of crazy
