Here's hoping that no helicopter comes flying around my neighborhood in oh, say, the next hour or so. I could do without the whirring sound of chopper blades. And without peeking out the window to see the thing flying low with a giant search light glaring down into my neighborhood. And flying in circles. And neighbors shouting and scurrying through the streets to their cars. I could do without all this because I had the thrill of experiencing it all last night already. I was stuck there in bed, wondering vaguely if flashing lights would appear, cops would surround the place, and I would be arrested for something I obviously didn't do, man. And yet I'd still feel guilty about it, because that's what happens to you when you're half asleep already and, despite working to overcome guilty feelings that have no basis, it's so ingrained in you that it surfaces and mocks you and your now-messy hairdo.

And just now, as I was typing this, I heard again the rumbling sound of a helicopter overhead. "Fly away from me, bitch!" was what came to mind to say. So I did. And, mercifully, it listened to me. And now, iTunes decided to put in its two cents and play Pink Floyd's The Happiest Days of Our Lives. You know. The one that starts out with helicopter blades whirring. Seems I can't win after all. Dammit.