67: Me Without you
So, in honor of being "back online" two questions:
1. How can I get teh address bar (the thing I type the www. into, since I'm probably calling it the wrong thing) back on the top of the screen?
2. Is there a free version of IM out there? Somewhere?
To gloat, I'ma finalist for Gov.'s school for writing. Here's to intellectual elitism.
There was a lot of stuff I want to write about. how about someone tell sme how to make this computer work, and I'll make it worth your while?
....Or I can just beg. and whine. a lot
and offer up this:
http://www.ugcs.caltech.edu/~paymer/mer/all_linkin_park_songs_sound_exactly_the_same.mp3
(they really do- like the Used)
Starting a new story, with the goal of writing a high school story. (first paragraph adn all I have):
It was a solid hour before the permanent marker washed off her knuckles, or at least, the word ‘SLUT’ became a distant smudge. She had hid the offending hand in her sweatshirt when she walked in her door, pulling the sleeve down over her knuckles, her fingernails biting through the fabric into her lifeline. For the first few moments she had tried gamely to smile, but as she lost herself more and more in the task of clearing her skin, her mouth relaxed and the pounding of the water matched her heartbeat.
1. How can I get teh address bar (the thing I type the www. into, since I'm probably calling it the wrong thing) back on the top of the screen?
2. Is there a free version of IM out there? Somewhere?
To gloat, I'ma finalist for Gov.'s school for writing. Here's to intellectual elitism.
There was a lot of stuff I want to write about. how about someone tell sme how to make this computer work, and I'll make it worth your while?
....Or I can just beg. and whine. a lot
and offer up this:
http://www.ugcs.caltech.edu/~paymer/mer/all_linkin_park_songs_sound_exactly_the_same.mp3
(they really do- like the Used)
Starting a new story, with the goal of writing a high school story. (first paragraph adn all I have):
It was a solid hour before the permanent marker washed off her knuckles, or at least, the word ‘SLUT’ became a distant smudge. She had hid the offending hand in her sweatshirt when she walked in her door, pulling the sleeve down over her knuckles, her fingernails biting through the fabric into her lifeline. For the first few moments she had tried gamely to smile, but as she lost herself more and more in the task of clearing her skin, her mouth relaxed and the pounding of the water matched her heartbeat.