this isn’t the old cockroach, this is the new cockroach
Woke up 3 a.m. this morning to the sound of something rummaging through papers in our bedroom. It sounded like a sentient noise, like a fellow human invader was in the room. I bolted up, and sound ceased.
Woke up again to more rummaging. I quietly turned on the light, and saw a rat the size of a large kitten float across the floor. He left an apple core in his wake.
The rat’s gentle garbage sifting lifting me into sleepy comprehension seems an apt metaphor. I rummage through my thoughts.
Sometimes my brain has these weird insights, this internal chatter when I fall asleep or wake up. Like just this morning I thought, “This isn’t the old cockroach, this is the new cockroach.”
What *this* means, I don’t know. But it seems profound.
Another sleepy insight: 9 symbolizes the end, 11 a new beginning. One equals me, two equals thee. Three is a trio, four a posse. Five a committee, six a conspiracy, seven a coven and eight a meeting.
Then I thought of a recipe for CAMPAIGN FINANCE CAKE MIX. Put Hillary Clinton’s face on the box a la Betty Crocker. Ingredients: private insurers and corn syrup corporations. Spin, spin, spin. Make poor people eat it.
Welcome to the old roach, same as the new?