and things get fuzzy

It seems inevitable. While this summer is not nearly as bad as last, when I lived by myself alone while interning for IBM, it seems that whenever I venture far from the people I know, my thoughts turn toward the abstract. It's not like I prefer it; I'd rather think of concrete things like ice cream or girls or girls in ice cream.

How about this, then: a girl is stuck under a mountain of strawberry ice cream after a most unfortunate avalanche. She must eat her way out before she freezes to death in the sea of deliciousness. In the process, she realizes that she's lived her life wrong -- an underachievement of happiness, overabundance of work, under-consideration of love, over-emphasis on ice cream. In the process, she also realizes that it's not ice cream, but worms, and that she's been eating her way out of a mountain of worms. But before she is able to spit out a mouthful of worm parts, she freezes to death. The angels come from the skies and cry for her, erecting a statue in her image. Then I come into the picture, and start humping the statue.

I'm frankly waiting for the next Great American novel to flow through me any day now.