Dear Christina,
Well, my dear, I just wanted to offer my sincerest congratulatory congratulations on your good looks. Excellent job! As for me, I just haven't had much "Inspirato" lately. There was a day when I could just sit down, stare into a blank page, wait for the "inspirato" to strike, then craft a bouquet of verbs tantalized by poignant adjectives linked in meaning and thought by those worker bee conjunctions. Nouns were my friends. Christina, that was then and this is now. As it stands, I look deeply into the foreboding whiteness of the page before me with only one thought swirling my mind, "what is the deal with an itch?" Christina, I understand that itches occur for several reasons. Itching signifies the healing process. It can also call attention to a budding problem, of which, the caretaker my not be aware. I truly appreciate the release of energy and the phantasmal feeling of relieving the nagging nomad of his stronghold on my body. However, the itch has overstepped his bounds. The itch, in a word, is a bitch! How did he gain free access to the remotest of the remote bungalows of my body? He may crop up on your head, he may crop up on your tibia, but there is one thing you know and that is the itch will rear its ugly head to tease the ends of your nerves and ultimately grab your attention which he so desires.
Christina, ponder with me. Have your ever concluded your day itch-less? Have you ever been wakened by an itch? Have you ever had an itch that you just couldn't locate? Trying in vein to cease the disruption, a disruption as clear as day but as mysterious as night. A disturbance that toys with your existence only to disappear just when you think you have it nabbed. It's a cruel joke if you ask me. I don't understand. As I write this I have an itch doing its prickly version of the electric slide directly on the center of my back. Pen poised for invasion, movements cautious and calculated, zeroing in on the target and waiting for the optimum time to strike, my attack is quick, daunting and successful, but how long can I keep this up. What if I wasn't such an intelligent tool using species of animal? What if my arms were short? Christina, what if I was a Giraffe? How long can I be expected to keep up this battle? Does it end? Will I be invaded by the random itch until the day I die?
I believe that we are making some headway. Christina, me and you, you and I, the lady and the tramp, the beauty and the beast, might have just solved the yet unanswered and oft pondered riddle of existence. Christina, proof of existence lies within the itch. Birds itch. Wildebeest do too. Dogs definitely itch and what's more they all exist. We did it!
Hmmmm....wait a minute. Plants exist as well. Do they itch? Do they have to deal with the incessant mockery of life that the itch purveys? I think not. But do plants exist? Hmmmm…I say sure, they can exist too. Christina, me and you, you and I, Tito and Germain, Sugar and Rays, Q and U, have a new philosophy to proclaim to the world. Awareness is symbolized by the itch. If you itch you are aware. Hmmm...Are dogs aware? Are iguanas privy to the celestial aura that we, the hair-less apes, are? Does the Muskrat contemplate the origins of life, the vastness of space and the contents of scrapple?
Well Christina, it was a nice effort. We tried. Unfortunately the only thing I can say for certain is the itch is a bitch and there's no denying that. As I bring my thoughts to a close I hope you will join me in giving thanks. Thank you for Solarcaine. Thank you for Novocaine. Thank you for Scalpacin. Thank you for Benadryl and especially thank you for Cortisone, the queen hootchie-mama of itch relievers.
Scratchingly yours,
Orpheous Roy
P.S. I bet you have an itch right now.
http://www.christinachambers.com/main.html
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