The bananas are old;

[dnimsdrawkcab]

Even my sister says I'm too quiet. I didn't know that. At least when I'm not being insane. And then it's a couple of laughs before an eventual blocking out, on her part, not mine. I like when the laughs just keep coming and I'm crying everything's so funny because it's not that funny but I'm laughing like it is anyway. I talk aloud in response to my thoughts too often, a compulsion I'm trying to shed. Some days, though, I feel like I'm working my way to the cat lady, mewling terribly into the night as the streets swallow me whole. I would tell you this, but maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe I'm just trying too hard for something a little less placid. I don't really believe that, though.

The bananas are old. I have to do the dishes. The bananas are old, I have to do the dishes. The bananas are old; I have to do the dishes.

It's because of kryptonite. Mine is immaterial and threatens the worst possible fate: a mundane life. Time to eradicate invasive headplants and geodic alien antagonists.