When I was a little kid, I was really, really, really, really weird. Not that I'm not that weird now, but--I'm getting off-topic. Let me try this again.
My elementary school had a blacktop that everyone was let out on during recess and lunch. One one side of the blacktop was the school building--the classrooms, the bathrooms, and the water fountain, all joined together into a single, long, massive building. The other side of the blacktop, where it ended, was about one or one and a half football field widths away.
I had no friends, so I would spend my recesses and lunches pretending to be some sort of brave desert explorer, lost in the sweltering heat for days.
Being a brave desert explorer was simple, but time consuming. First, you started at the far end of the blacktop. Then, you set your sights on your goal. Since I was a brave desert explorer lost in the sweltering heat for days, my goal was obviously the water fountains. If I could just make it to those fountains, I wouldn't die a terrible drawn-out death by dehydration!
The last step was to crawl, slowly and dramatically, to the water fountain. And when I saw crawl, I don't mean on my hands and knees--I meant that I set my body on the blacktop, belly-down, arched one hand over my head until it slapped the ground, and used that hand to slowly, painfully, dramatically drag myself forward inch by painful inch. And then I did the same, with my other hand, like someone trying desperately to swim in something solid--like, say, blacktop.
So, after about a football field's width of crawling, crawling, crawling, I grabbed the pipe hanging from the water fountain, and proceed to dramatically, slowly haul myself up to partake of liquid bliss to heal my parched body!
And then, ignoring all the flummoxed stares from the rest of the students, I walked back to the far side of the blacktop, set myself down, and BEGAN THE WHOLE PROCESS AGAIN, repeating and repeating until it was time for class to resume.
I spent the next years wondering why I didn't have any friends.
