her offbeat dance makes me fantasize
today i found a hair in my book that glowed a pretty light brown in the sun. upon closer inspection it turned out to be a pubic hair. im never renting books from westmall again.
this morning i woke up earlier than i am wont to and was grumpy all the way to the crowded ten a.m. bus stop, but it was worth it in the end and now im lying flat on my back with stewart comfortably stewing my thigh flesh, leeching off the ever-generous leenet and talking to people in AMERICA and HONG KONG (msn is so cool and yes suaku me still has yet to get over it). also i just stubbed my toe and now theres a bit of skin flapping about oozing blood all over the floor. life is good.
from the book -
"...that miserable, furious, wretched thirteen-year-old, huddled in a scared bony heap on the changing room bench trying to work out how to shuffle to the showers without being seen...All he has is his anger, his fury, his verbal arrogance, his pride. Without that, he would shrivel into a social nothingness that would match his shrivelled physical nothingness. So forgive him the intemperance of his fury, forgive him his rage, his insolence and the laughing cockiness he is prey to: they are just a ragged towel. A towel to hide his shame, to cover up the laughable no-cockiness he is prey to."
there are quite a few sex bits in moab is my washpot; i dread to think what previous owners have done while reading it. but oh, it is funny.
this morning i woke up earlier than i am wont to and was grumpy all the way to the crowded ten a.m. bus stop, but it was worth it in the end and now im lying flat on my back with stewart comfortably stewing my thigh flesh, leeching off the ever-generous leenet and talking to people in AMERICA and HONG KONG (msn is so cool and yes suaku me still has yet to get over it). also i just stubbed my toe and now theres a bit of skin flapping about oozing blood all over the floor. life is good.
from the book -
"...that miserable, furious, wretched thirteen-year-old, huddled in a scared bony heap on the changing room bench trying to work out how to shuffle to the showers without being seen...All he has is his anger, his fury, his verbal arrogance, his pride. Without that, he would shrivel into a social nothingness that would match his shrivelled physical nothingness. So forgive him the intemperance of his fury, forgive him his rage, his insolence and the laughing cockiness he is prey to: they are just a ragged towel. A towel to hide his shame, to cover up the laughable no-cockiness he is prey to."
there are quite a few sex bits in moab is my washpot; i dread to think what previous owners have done while reading it. but oh, it is funny.