Life Imitates Art

After yesterday’s rant, my overworked imagination got the best of me. I took a warm bath, had a cup of cocoa, and went to bed. Fitful slumber ensued, which was irrevocably rent asunder by the throb-throb-throb of a helicopter's rotor. I sat up with a start—was I dreaming or, indeed, had my lunatic fantasies become real? The noise became louder until it sounded as if it was directly overhead. Finally it receded into the distance, taking with it my peace of mind.

In the morning I asked the Weaver if she had heard it. Yep, exactly as I remembered it.

That settles it. I'm going to only write about pleasant things from now on.