That Tickles

Some­times I feel like there are tiny gods crawl­ing all over my body. They itch like crazy, or maybe it is more like a tick­le; but not the kind of tick­le that makes you gig­gle with delight but more the kind that makes you shriek and squirm and wet your pants just a lit­tle bit. It’s not great. It’s pret­ty damn weird, in fact.

But, Dos­to­evskyan scoundrel that I am, I have grown used to it. 

I find I am still most high-func­tion­ing in the ear­ly hours of the morn­ing, unless it is rain­ing. If it is rain­ing, for­get it. I might as well go back to bed, except that the tiny gods will nev­er stand for it, and hav­ing tried to cross them more than once, I am no longer will­ing to break out of the rou­tine they have tac­it­ly deemed accept­able. I just want to not be afraid of them, but I am almost cer­tain that is not an option. These are not the sort of gods who want to be your buddy. 

But then, do any of them?

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