The Three Burials of Kevin Morris

Before you all start cheering and fighting over my belongings, I did not really die. I did not even almost die. I just saw a movie this weekend by Tommy Lee Jones, and I liked the title so much I figured I would steal it. The problem is I do not know how to make a blog or a story coincide with that title. But I will try anyways.

Burial one. I took a huge step this weekend. Not distance wise, because I have short legs, I mean mentally. I killed off one of my personalities. One of the ones I seldom use. It was the personality that controls all of my fashion taste. I decided that other people need to just pick clothes for me, maybe even dress me too. I have no idea what trendy is. I had a slight idea one year when I bought a pair of jeans that came with bleach wrinkles in it, and I wore that pair every time I wanted to feel trendy. But about two weeks ago that pair split open and I was back to wearing Walmart brand highwaters. I am so far behind the times that I still think my Doc Martins are trendy. I know that most of you have even forgot that these shoes even existed, but I know of one pair that does, and is used quite a bit. I was going to wear them out on the town this weekend and I was stopped in my tracks by my more trendy friends and they told me that I could not wear those shoes out in public with them. They preceded to lock me in the bathroom and they went on their way. So I figured it was time to just do away with that personality all together. I will have to give clothes picking out duties to a different personality, one that is not overloaded with duties. That would be my books/reading personality. This way maybe I will start to pick clothes that look good. I am good at judging a book by its cover so maybe I can use that mentality when I go to the mall or Solo Serve next time. The main point is however, that I did bury my fashion taste personality.

Burial Two. My second burial was more a dream I had this past week. I had stayed out late on a work night, had been to Cowboys, and had had a few adult beverages. All of these mixed together with paranoia that I wouldn't wake up in time for work and be fired, made for the best recipe for crazy dreams. In this dream I was me, but I was a me that had been created in the image of Steve Erwin. If you do not know who Steve Erwin is, he is the bloke who when people are running away from dangerous life taking animals, he is running at them with a goofy grin, an accent and bare hands. He is the Crocodile Hunter if you still need help. Anyways, in my dream I was catching ferocious varments and snakes with my hands at ease. With each dangerous animal I caught, the harder the task got. I went from catching a squirrel, to a jackalope, to a badger, to a bald eagle. Then the tougher stuff started happening. I caught a skunk, a rabid fox, a small alligator, and a rattle snake under a rock. Next, was a huge crocodile and then the grandaddy of them all was about to take place next. A nest of water moccasins 12 feet deep in a river of heavily flowing water. I think my real life extreme fear of swimming underwater onto a nest of water moccasins caused my dream self to hesitate when he shouldn't have, because, the next thing I know I am dreaming of myself being vi=olently attacked by what seemed like 300 snakes. I was covered from head to toe in snakes that had a firm grip of my skin with their fangs and I was flailing my arms and legs.... Ahhh I was doing the same thing in real life, flailing around on my bed, kicking the covers off, and sweating. Needless to say, I was up in time for work because of not being able to get back to bed, and I luckily did not have to go through with the end of the dream, where I would be buried at the bottom of the river.

Burial Three. In keeping with the movie in which I took its title, I will leave the third burial up to the audience to read into. Maybe some of you want me dead so that you can get my big TV or drive my sweet car. Maybe some of you want me to stop having deadpan humor, and write about things that make since to at least middle schoolers. Still others just might think I am dead wrong about both of the last two ideas. So what ever the case, I am going to bury my 30 pound head into my pillow and and hopefully fall dead asleep. Until next time.