Story of My Life By Rachel

The Story of my Life
By, Rachel Miracle

I am a side table + drawer. You wouldn't think of it to look at me, what with the hair and clothes and such. But it is true. I am a side table + drawer.

Life began very quickly somewhere in eastern Nebraska around the turn of the century. I wasn't too keen on flying then and neither was half of the American subculture... So i spent most of my time looming around Barnes & Noble and flipping radishes at flight attendents.

When I was still young but yet, old enough to file my own taxes, I invested in a farm and petitioned it into ten seperate plots, selling each at the inflated price of fifty-two thousand. I made a bundle, but then had to turn around and sell it all again to pay for the jetplane I required to get the heck out of Dodge. Dodge, Nebraska wasn't exactly a dixie stampeed. Often times I would stay up all night spray-painting trains and find myself unable to crawl out of bed until the late afternoon. This became tedious in my teenage years after I learned of my incredibly rare condition.

I was titled as the youngest girl ever to have Dis-Ease Disease. It was a horrendous condition that left me unable to time travel and required my slow progression through the years to be taken one day at a time. I had became normal!

My father, who was in every right a picnic table, married my mother when they were older than they are now. She's a western species of Pelican. Their conversations are limited to such exemplified dialogue as "How many buttons are on my jacket?" and "Is it okay if I light that Guinea Pig on fire?" There was never a dull moment except for those moments that were, indeed, entirely dull and lacked any sort of excitement. My relatives and I found it most effective to sleep under the tractor and only come out when the sun and moon were overlapping one another in the same proximity. I hate oatmeal.

The family had several pets; a bear, a siberian tiger, an enflamed hippo and several species of field mice that slept in our pockets. A close friend of the family turned out to be a double agent when she kidnapped all of the afformentioned animals save for one chicken. (The chicken later became two cats and a rabbit but we didn't mind.) I named the second cat Forentenius and we lived on the edges of glory until 1917 when the stock market exploded and the forth world war shook the southern town of Jakkaranda which wasn't anywhere near us.

Everyone got tired of her mouth (which is a nice way to begin a sentence, but makes absolute no sense with what I've said so far) and we all left. I matured in front of a live studio audience and found the bane of my existance at the bottom of a water basin. Mother told me not to trust a man in shades but I did anyways and ended up, temporarily married to Evelyn Preston. It was a failed marriage, however, and ended when I caught her bungie-jumping with another squirrel.

It was uneventful and mundane and absolutely enthralling for the longest of times. This went on for about four minutes and I got bored and bought two tickets to Spain and got all broody with a couple of Gypsies in Madrid. Their names had a lot of vowels and hardly any consonants and I found it silly. Besides, both looked an awful lot like a "July" so I called one Bess and the other Marvin.

Everything was a soft shade of pink so we dyed the whole world purple. I was the captain of the Pilates Ship and wore a really awesome hat and a diamond ring. I found that after a long day of languishing it felt good to have a cold bear and kill a few seals. We did it with a smile in our hearts too, and several huge clubs.

Lately I find myself listening to the sweet sounds of Celtic Mermaids and carving Buddha statues out of bars of Dove soap. I sell the statues for about 3k each and then deposite the entire sum into my Swedish bank account. Sometimes I even deposite a bank teller. Her name is Lovely Rita but she isn't a metre maid. Not anymore, not since what happened.

Time and time again I use such sayings as "time and time again" but I prefer the more creative cliches. which is silly because cliches aren't creative at all, are they? *nervous laughter* Anyways, I'll keep you updated. (No I won't.)

<3 Rachel

PS- I lied.