See through the second story

I've got too much of something that makes me think watching "real life" families on T.V. is strange, but not too much of whatever that is to stop me from watching real life families (commercial free) through their decal stickered (currently butterflies) windows. Whether or not that was the back or front of that man's head, I'll never know. Either way I won the staring contest.

Still Life

Some are born still, others achieve stillness, and some have stillness thrust upon them.

I don't know about you, but I say potato.

This is a pretty good potato salad. For mine I replaced the peppers with radishes and didn't read the ingredients or the directions for any of it. There's halfuh lemon (including the pith, minus the peel, including the seeds) in the sauce, as well as olive oil (pff fat free). Still, anyway, certainly edible and registering an audible blip on the delicious scale. It definitely wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea, mind you, nor is it mine; like I said, it is a pretty good potato salad.

nonetheless

That idea didn't pan out.

Run Home Jack, Run Home.

Maybe just for the sake of being funny, I'd like to crochet today while watching hook.

A sacred shape with the texture of flesh

What is the future going to think about all the old people with triangles tattooed on them? Inky monuments to pyramid mysticism fostered by camel cigarette packs, the dollar bill, and popular album art. Idols on ourselves, everlasting for 83.86 years.

What fun it is to learn about mysteries.

So Totally Hammered

As I'm hammering nails backwards out of boards I'm having the sorts of thoughts Drea calls poison. My mind wanders into grim territory and off of the task at hand. Sure enough, my Papa's words crash upon my thumb and I get "given something that really hurts." Some blood and a purple mound; physical evidence of physical pain. Taylor and Omar so kindly wince and assure me that it will only feel worse later and Taylor promises me that the antibacterial spray that stings like a bugger won't hurt one bit.

And now I hold my thumb sticking out like it's a sore one. But already, contrary to the lot of liars who warned me that pain would travel up my arm and make my hand fall heavy, my thumb is feeling better. And I can get on quite well with my day, a day which is a particularly special day, occurring only this and every single Wednesday, a day ushered in by ridiculous song at 11 am: Lynn Day.