One might think that I would get plenty of sleep, here in the cozy cramped darkness of my secret locked drawer, but one would be wrong. The truth is, I can't sleep...can't even snooze...
I'm so worried about my Mystery Murderer! It keeps me up all night. Or maybe all day; I can't tell, it's dark in here. Imagine how my Mystery Murderer must be suffering! Eating himself up inside, poisoned with hate! Just like Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol," the good one, with Michael Caine and Kermit the Frog.
Hey! Remember Plato, that Greek guy? Remember how he said Man's perception of reality was like a guy in a cave watching shadows on the wall when the real world was going on outside in 3D and full color? Remember that? That's me! I'm like that guy except I'm in a drawer and I'm made of socks. And love. Socks and love, that's me...
That does it! I feel I must leave! Not that I don't enjoy being a modern example of a ancient-yet-still-relevant philosophical metaphor...and believe you me I do...no, I feel my destiny lies outside the drawer. Deep in my beanbag-like heart I know I must come out! I must excape! I can no longer leave Mystery Murderer festering in the putrid contents of his rancid bowels!
Hmm... a question: will I simply submit to his dark and violent whims (giggle)? or will I go undergound and give him the bitter satisfaction of futilely trying to hunt me down (as opposed to the bitter satisfaction of his current rancid bowel festering...)
don't know yet...
...haven't decided
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Come out, come out, wherever you are...
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