It could be mushaboom. Or it could not.
I can't imagine someone buying an entire Kate Nash album. Or half a song. Is that harsh? Regina Spektor I can see.
Glad my hormonal cycle isn't amped up to breed mode right now. THis is actually a nice rest. I can
be pretty but not gutteral.
I can't let Xander play on pbs kids that long again while I read. While I was home with him that was fine, because it
really isn't that long time-wise, but our time is short together after work and school. Not a fan of compressed days,
am working on stretching our days out. Less commute time, more together time. He needs a bath tonight. That, cannot
be delayed another day.
I'm feeling too much today and not getting felt up at all.
My hope is the thing with raven feathers.
No news is no news.
Eccentric minds are inherited. Grandpa and his anatomically correct sock puppets, milk bottle cap trees, and m%M wrapper
honey bears. Me in my kerchief. Me in an antique store. My mother and her petrified frog sculptures. Enough for twelve
novels in one conversation. Creative starters for the internal fireplace (and oh, it has a pretty fireplace).
Have outgrown Ben Folds (though he's still good for a touch of nostalgia) and I shouldn't drink hot chocolate.
Library and hopefully swimming with Xander this weekend. Need more chances to give stickers. Am going to stop
whining about not being able to stay at home with him. Am going to write where I can, in the crevasses of time that
I can eek out from the Nothing. Eek is a village in Alaska. Alaska is a place that still has genuine villages.
My horoscope in the Anchorage Daily was terribly specific. More schooling, it says. Buckle your shit down, it says.
I guess we're supposed to be somewhere else. I guess I should shut up.
My kid is the coolest kid around. Cooler than yours, I'm afraid. Best face facts before they face you. Like,
"FACE!" in your face.
That one is cool on the surface, but the same old dork he was in junior high. This is endearing.
One of my goals this year is to be less egocentric. This would make me very happy.
The great blue heron in my stomach is driving me crazy. Flop, flop, flop every time I think about that rental.
Come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn but the great blue heron out of its misery arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.
Poppin fresh. What is this? It runs through daily. Oh, it's the "official name" of the Pilsbury Dough Boy. I had
no idea. It's in my lexicon of the subconscious.
Every day is a wagon wheel and stasis sucks. January always means eating all the candy canes from the tree,
and this day is no exception. I must have about 30 new cavities that surely need filled. Am not going to go
editorial on the state of healthcare in this country. There are a zillion bloggers doing that.
Marlins are for fools
halibut are for old men
your mom smells like carp