the reason is this
does it even matter why. who really cares whats been made of this anyway. i cant for a second imagine my mother reading what i wrote to her today but perhaps she will and perhaps she will respond. I hate deciding that i will do what it is that i will do and then finding myself to be nothing but a lump that sits on the couch watching home design programs. if i wanted it so badly wouldn't i curse all distractions and immerse my self in the childish pict o grams of what it is i claim i want to be. mountains out of molehills . so desperatly sad that i know i can, i just have to but sometimes its easier to just stand at a bookstore register with a thick head than to sit at a desk with image making tools spread like a spilled box of crayons. HILTER PEFFERCORN wipe that dirt from your face!