Luck only matters with the cards and the women, and sometimes not at all.
Sometimes dumb luck is just how I get by, it turns out. Dumb luck and absentmindedness, which is not quite a smart way to do it.
Anyways.
Peeping Tom said to Madam Rose, I seen you twice already without your clothes. What I suggest, Honey, what I propose, is that you see me without mine.
I am pretending to have strep throat, as hinted earlier, in order to get out of work. For NO REASON besides the fact that, sometimes, I think things are good ideas when they are not. But I have almost-productively used the time to clean some stuff and do some laundry and return some movies, and read some John Bunyan. Grace Abounding. Which is not quite crazy enough to be entertaining but too frenetic to be enjoyable, and fantastically egocentric in a way which makes the author seem almost criminally insane. It is kind of beautiful in the way it is so very much a product of the seventeenth century: plague-ridden and paranoid, basically. This is life-or-death struggle, with claws, for salvation in an environment in which I could not even imagine trying to exist. So what I am saying is that I hate it, violently, and I'm kind of sorry about that.
The essay on this one is gonna be a bitch. And I am kind of doing things wrong, but then again, probably everyone feels like that most of the time.
Luke has been living with me for a week while my parents are out of town, but now they're back and he left this morning. I suspect I'm gonna be sad about this takin' the bus by myself business, WHAT IS THAT. It was good, though, if a little bit garage sale. We ate too much sour cream and listened to "Tent In Your Pants" almost nonstop.
Edit added, like, three hours later: OH I ALMOST FORGOT: It is absolutely imperative that you go to The Most Unwanted Song and click on the mp3 and listen to it right now. RIGHT NOW. It is twenty-three minutes of your life that you will never get back, but you won't even regret it. I promise. Just keep listening.
Anyways.
Peeping Tom said to Madam Rose, I seen you twice already without your clothes. What I suggest, Honey, what I propose, is that you see me without mine.
I am pretending to have strep throat, as hinted earlier, in order to get out of work. For NO REASON besides the fact that, sometimes, I think things are good ideas when they are not. But I have almost-productively used the time to clean some stuff and do some laundry and return some movies, and read some John Bunyan. Grace Abounding. Which is not quite crazy enough to be entertaining but too frenetic to be enjoyable, and fantastically egocentric in a way which makes the author seem almost criminally insane. It is kind of beautiful in the way it is so very much a product of the seventeenth century: plague-ridden and paranoid, basically. This is life-or-death struggle, with claws, for salvation in an environment in which I could not even imagine trying to exist. So what I am saying is that I hate it, violently, and I'm kind of sorry about that.
The essay on this one is gonna be a bitch. And I am kind of doing things wrong, but then again, probably everyone feels like that most of the time.
Luke has been living with me for a week while my parents are out of town, but now they're back and he left this morning. I suspect I'm gonna be sad about this takin' the bus by myself business, WHAT IS THAT. It was good, though, if a little bit garage sale. We ate too much sour cream and listened to "Tent In Your Pants" almost nonstop.
Edit added, like, three hours later: OH I ALMOST FORGOT: It is absolutely imperative that you go to The Most Unwanted Song and click on the mp3 and listen to it right now. RIGHT NOW. It is twenty-three minutes of your life that you will never get back, but you won't even regret it. I promise. Just keep listening.