I am wrapped up in a blue and white afghan.
I want brownies. I want them now!
I wish I had discovered Terry Teachout's procrastination meme sooner. My whole weekend was an absymal drift of avoidance with nothing to look busy doing.
I hate to be spoken to in third person. Actually, the absurdity of it gives me a giddy thrill, but the "California-ness "of it is pretty creepy.
I love to hear my kids laugh.
I miss Arrested Development and Hunter S. Thompson.
I fear I sound like my mother, literally.
I hear birds singing outside my window.
I wonder what goes through George Bush's mind. Is it just white noise?
I regret I am not good at pool.
I am not available to take your calls.
I dance with my daughter to Corazón de Melon.
I sing with Nina Simone when I'm driving in my car.
I cry when I watch Secretariat win the Triple Crown, cheesy music aside.
I am not always patient or even present.
I make with my hands nasty gestures at people who cut me off in traffic.
I write notes on bits of paper I either lose or can't make sense of.
I confuse helpfulness with a desire to impose an agenda.
I need a massage.
I should pay my library fines.
I start each day far earlier than I'd like.
I finish later rather than sooner.
I tag the Reverend and the next person who reads this.