Artemis Drifting

Just because she tippietoes, doesn't mean she's a creepin'.


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I have twelve foot ceilings because a huge and scary dinosaur has chased me all my life.

Without me knowing, he contacted my real estate broker and secured enough space for him to be comfortable. Furthermore, I believe the dinosaur ordered the mirrors atop my ten foot doors. After all, there’s nothing more embarrassing than lumbering outside with a chunk of my hair and scalp wedged between incisor and canine.

I’d bet he’s probably unsettled with my move, after all, during our Tom and Jerry escapades he had plenty of room. Out in the alabama sky, he had all the head room in the world to hunt me from house to house.

I also have a large suspicion that this dinosaur suffers from dissociative identity disorder. As I have not been gobbled up yet, his greatest and most successful effort has been to make me hurry to every destination. I could be heading to the market or stumbling for a midnight pee, but I assure you – I’ll be moving at a steady clip. So in conclusion, he may have been trying to trim the fat rather than plump me up.

Does anyone know therapists that can possibly help dinosaurs that believe they’re enjoying steady enjoyment as my personal trainer?

I say dinosaurs, plurally, because I am positive at one point I had one wedge into an abandoned refrigerator box. And anyone reading this knows that once you’re within the boundaries of a refrigerator box, only your mother and a dinosaur can get past that cardboard fortress.

Additionally, it wasn’t my mother. The occupant had carrion breath, and I know without a doubt my mom is a religious brusher. While these dinosaurs may have been chasing me, I have not yet found a rinsing cup fitted for scaly beasts missing opposable thumbs.

All I am saying is this, what did I ever do to be pursued by these guys? Maybe I need to break my concerns down into bullet points. All great men solve problems by making lists.

- I have not willfully mocked dinosaurs or made gigantic omelets. I also have never left a glass of water out to tempt them to stomp around me to watch the ripples go. Never encourage the ego of a dinosaur. These are basic guidelines we all know.

-How could I have possibly not only attracted dinosaurs, but a pack of them bent on simply making me run from point A to point B?

-Is it possible for dinosaurs to inherit or make infectious this habit of chasing me down? Could either one of these theories explain how it went from just one tyrannosaurus rex to several, all with the same fixation?

I’m concerned.

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