Bloated Lollipop Balloons, Late Winter 03.04.03

I feel so bloated. Like a rotund little ball-boy in a chair, typing. I don't know if my fingers and arms can overcome the immense gravity of my stomach. Processing eggs and a large cinnamon danish and coffee. Glad I laid off the pancakes. I would be lolling about the floor, gripping my tum-tum and wondering if this is what if feels to be inverted, to become a black hole. I mean, at least I didn't eat two Corner Bistro burgers at 3.30 in the morning. I'd still be feeling it. I'd be praying for flatulence as a relief.

As is, my belly feels larger than I remember it; my rib cage is probably actually in retreat as we speak. An outcome I have been hoping for, yet not accompanied with this feeling, this weight. I want wings. And hollow bones. And flight. A trampoline would temporarily do in this case.

Coupled with today's inability to tie my own laces properly-- they came undone not once, not twice, but about six times in a six block walk--I am destined to pull a Pixel and fall in some utterly comic manner. I think, really, it is my boots. They are tired of being worn on a daily basis, as I have had to this winter. They are not used to such exercise, to still stepping over blackened (as if by pepper) fillets of snow on grass, on sidewalks, on dirt, on top of empty bottles of Hennessey.

The boots are also heavy. I'd like ballet slippers with my wings, please.