On my way to my last final exam ever. Celebrating by doing exactly what I’ve always done, which is to say being late and way under prepared. Wish me luck!
All I’m saying is, if I were Chessy, I’d have asked where the other one was.
Wendy and I decided to take our friendship to the next level the other day, by each putting $20 toward a joint stock portfolio, in the hopes that by the time one of us needs bail money or an urgent plane ticket to visit the other it will have matured.
Played 8 times
Had a visitor this morning. He was very keen. Good thing I was already awake, though I hopefully I won’t be tonight if he decides to come back…
He came back today and I played this song at him and he’s so confused, he keeps trying to find the other bird, and whenever I stop playing it he makes this plaintive chucking screeching noise to try to make it start again, like Marco Polo where Polo is an evil girl with an mp3 file. But in the process of his search he pooped all over my fire escape, so I may still be the loser.
A bigger fire than one usually sees on Manhattan streets, but probably not deserving of the five helicopters, four fire trucks, two ambulances, 9203912 fire men, and three street closings that it got.
Really lovely moon around 5:30am the Tuesday morning, even if neither the iphone nor I were on good enough form to get a great photo.
The great conflict of my life is why I can be completely amazing in some regards, and only slightly more functional than the average golden retriever in others.
No hitting! Use your words!
Have you ever been so moved by a book/art/article/movie/cloud/etc. that it made you angry? Angry not at its content nor out of envy, but angry because you can’t touch it or make a dress out of it and wear it or roll it up into a ball and shove it in your mouth?
I’ve been feeling that way more and more lately; Brendan Constantine’s Birthday Girl with Possum is the most recent thing to make me want to tear off my clothes, Hulk-style. It’s uncomfortable! I was not raised in a barn, right? So why this need to destroy that which I love?
I’m sitting in a cafe getting increasingly fidgety, wanting to rip the page or chew the binding because goddamn, it’s really good.
Moments like this put me in full-on toddler mode. I want to fling the book on the ground and jump up and down on it, and hit people with it, and lift the words off the page and shove them in my mouth and nose and ears until I start choking and an adult has to swoop in.
Do they make Medic Alert bracelets for this? “Has outsized reactions; might have been raised in barn”?
Well, maybe the proof of my evolution as a human is that I can repress all of these things. Instead I’ll shift and sigh and bite my lip, and eventually put the book down because part of being an adult is knowing when to say when.
Frankly, I love this post so much I want to eat it, so I know the feeling.
(For some reason, Caitlin usually shows up on my blog in reference to destroying things/people… coincidence? I think not.)
One of life’s big questions.
This… gives… me… feels… *gross sobbing*
Oh Smeagol.
