a failure of imagination
I just watched Joan of Arcadia and cried so much there was a puddle of wetness on Ryan's black futon couch. We bought season 1 dvd, and our whole family sits and watches it together til' the dark hours of the night. I seem to have a strange affinity to a fictional character known as Adam, who puts on some mask as a stoner to hide the fact that his recluse life is spent collecting random trash and blending welding and art to make statues of trash art. His dad is his biggest fan, and his mom died and he does this to remember her.
anyways. my horoscope said that on the 17th someone would make their move. screw the stars. i rely on fortunes printed on multiple pieces of little paper and stuffed into multiple hard thin cookies. they never tell me anything that distinct, and vagueness can be bent to whatever you want it to be, so they haven't let me down yet. nobody made their move today. hell. look at my life. isn't it sad? ha.
anyways. my horoscope said that on the 17th someone would make their move. screw the stars. i rely on fortunes printed on multiple pieces of little paper and stuffed into multiple hard thin cookies. they never tell me anything that distinct, and vagueness can be bent to whatever you want it to be, so they haven't let me down yet. nobody made their move today. hell. look at my life. isn't it sad? ha.