Postmodern Prompt Response

Naptime

I have now encountered the two thousand one hundred and sixty-seventh second of my naptime and believe I have reached a different conclusion about the meaning of life about half that many times, before a new and fully fledged hypothesis formed in my neural capacity, the likeliest of these multiple possibilities being -

hungry hungry milk hungry hungry food hungry applesauce hungry

Pardon me I seem to have momentarily lost my train of thought due to an unpleasant sensation occurring in my abdominal region. However it appears I can do nothing to appease the discomfort beside lie on my posterior and await the moment that an older member of my familial unit appears in my room to attend to my needs.

The older units have on several occasions mentioned my room is called the nursery. I still refer to it as my room, because once I age, it will no longer be a nursery. It will be called a room, and I do not think terms should age as we do. If one thing that has a supposed certainty is so fluid to change, what of the rest of the world? We are alive and then we are dead. There is no inbetween.

So as I do indeed lie upon my posterior in my room the view is

shiny! spinny spinny whrrr whrrrr ooohhhh colors swirly swirls zoom zoom swwsh

My apologies once more. My attention seems to have been briefly captured by the object that has been referred to by the older familial units as the crib mobile. On occasion one of them enters the room and presses a button on the side of this crib mobile device and the entire object begins to spin, which is admittedly quite mesmerizing.

The mobil is composed of various african animals including a wide array of pachyderms and my personal favorite ungulate animal, the giraffe. I enjoy the evolutionary circumstance of fighting off other rival ungulates that lead to its extended neck length. When the mobile begins to twirl through propelled motion, it blends together the pachyderms and the ungulates and dusts shadows onto the blue walls of my room that are like a dark dance of primal instinct which makes me think of

scary scared dark dark dark dark momma

Excuse me please. Now I remember one of my original hypotheses, before I was interrupted from concentrating by the unfortunate abdominal sensation. I have postulated that the older a familial unit gets, the slower its cognitive processes become. For instance, I have judged that I myself have the most complex trains of thought, and the second youngest familial unit has digressed considerably but not to the extent of the ones who give me the sustenance that calms the abdominal discomfort. Then the wrinkly ones are of course the least advanced, and I believe somewhere along the process of development they forget their previous level of cognitive ability and allow themselves to lose whatever it was that made them special.

And here is the older female familial unit now. Once again I shall commence in my endeavour to communicate these facts 

Gahhhh wahhh boo ahhhh blll blll vrooo vroo