The Angels Are Laughing

Enjoying both a migraine and a missing space bar this morning, I am consigned to brevity, pencil eraser repeatedly pushing down a tiny white plastic piece encased in an equally tiny plastic square . . . the looking down then up bringing on a kind of seasickness.

Perhaps a droll sight for the angels, as they shake their heads and wonder, "Why does she write when she feels that way?"

Even "she" doesn't know, as she continues on her dizzying, inexplicable journey.

Come to think of it, it's a relief not to have to know everything, to now and then throw up one's hands, enjoy a huge belly laugh, and exclaim to the skies:

"I have absolutely no idea!"