getting shit done, subjectively

i would now like to express the most vital concept of Getting Shit Done in the form of an interpretive dance, which i would now like to express in the form of a written essay.
imagine a large dark room with a tiny luminous ball hanging from the ceiling. a creature clad in black with a face painted like a cloud awakens from a deep sleep. i am that creature. as i emerge from the blackness, i begin to limp. i am limping. i am injured. no, deformed. i raise my left hand to discover it is in fact a scientific calculator, and my right, an egg beater. silently, i moan. my left foot is a baby alligator and on my right, an alligator boot. a jig begins to play. my alligator boot begins to jitterbug uncontrollaby. suddenly, i'm performing calculations with the egg beater. i moan again, my body rumbling as i am struck with a lightning bolt of advanced mathematical knowledge.

i am performing the three-fingered mudras of Vecti (with an egg-beater–think edward scissorhands), Goddess of advanced mathematical knowledge, in the way one does when suddenly speaking and understanding italian in a dream. we hear faint honking behind the jig, whose tune has grown loud and unwieldy, and now sounds more like a jig saw. the lumious ball grows brighter. i can now see your faces clearly. you are smiling like flowers. the dark room, it turns out, is not a room at all. it is actually an alley in between three tall tenement buildings. dogs are snarling, and paper is sprawling from last week's ticker tape parade. there is a clock and a stack of books. and a machine from a factory pressing plastic toys for toy story 3's release. i'm not really dancing anymore.

ok, it's a dance in which i inject plastic into little molds. when they cool, i take them out, put them in a bag, take them out of the bag excitedly, play with them, do a pee pee dance, and throw the plastic toy on the ground. then i pick the toys up, 'smelt' them, inhale their fumes (get a little high), and inject the plastic back into the molds (don't forget the egg beater hand). i consult my card file. what's the next action? you are still smiling. no, now you are laughing. as quickly as it lit, the luminous ball begins to fade until all you can see now is the cloud on my face. perhaps it looks like a rubber ducky or the press secretary. no matter. i am still as a cloud.