Saturday, February 15, 2003
Nibble On Your Little Ear
I am in my father's throne. It smells like farts and spilled whiskey. There are framed pictures of old steam locomotives on the walls. He is out purchasing socks. He has large feet. Very large.
I have built two puzzles, and I'm well into my third. Oh no. He's back. Gotta go. Wait, that's mom. I can continue. I know their footsteps.I'm here because the roomie asked me to vacate the apartment for V-Day. I complied. I was thinking about going to the bar last night, but I can't afford it. Former employer reneged on the leftover sick and vacation. I was counting on that. Phooey.
I got a Valentine from my sister. All three males in my family got one each, from her. I see a trend. We are emotionally crippled people who speak the language of love in an awkward foreign accent. That phrase is stolen from my favorite Mormon, thank you OSC, that's us exactly. So it's not all my fault that I'm a reclusive hermit. Still, I know better than to blame other people. for my problems. Enough of this trash.
Next time I hope I'll have time to read all my favorite journals. I haven't had time yet, and now I must go again.
6:03 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
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