Posing a Sup

Last night was the sort of night that has you pacing up and down the room for lack of anything better to do. Okay, I could have been doing homework. But truthfully, I didn't have the attention span for that. I was so bloody fidgety, constantly sitting down at my desk only to jump up and stare at my art easel before finally resorting to shoe sorting and then mindlessly opening and closing the fridge. Yeah. One of those nights.

It was getting on to about two, then, when I finally collapsed on my bed, letting my thoughts careen and collide as they would. This is not the brightest of ideas, and I'll tell you why---I start doing this:

"I'm forever using the word "suppose." It's a funny word, that. I like it. Suppose suppose suppose.
suh-pose
seh-pose
soo-pose
saw-pose
sup-ose
sup-pose
pose-sup
pose a sup! Is that what it is? Posing a sup? "I'd like to pose a sup that she truly does love him . . ." What then, is a sup? Sup sup sup. Whenever I think of the word, I imagine Oliver Twist. Then again, that's just me. And what would supping on soup have to do with assuming and speculation?"

I pose a sup that's where I left off, finally lulling myself to sleep.

* * * * *

In other news, as a 'huzzah' for love week, we're going pink and red. Shocking, I know. I figured my spring green wouldn't mind a reprieve; he's working overtime down here in Provo.