My Telepathic Powers . . .
certainly aren't what they used to be. Or perhaps they never were and I'm trippin'. Either way, they're not working very well. I knew the swell was still with us when I got up on Sunday morning. As usual, I was hesitant to broach the subject of me making a run to the beach lest I endure the wrath of Soul Brother #1. But I did think about it. And I don't mean I just thought about it, I mean I was sending telepathic messages to his brain, trying to put thoughts in his head and words in his mouth. I swear it used to work. He would voluntarily ask if I was going surfing. That always meant I had his blessing to do so. (It also meant there was something he wanted to do that day and he knew I'd assent to his thing if he assented to mine.) What went wrong on Sunday? I don't know. There must be Kryptonite in the house somewhere. He was either unable to receive my mental pleas or he was blocking them. Either way, I got shut out.