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My head still hurts.
I'm about to eat potato-corn chowder. This confuses me, as I thought all chowder was either corn or... *shudder*... clam.
It occurs to me that I should work on living up to my nickname. Talking a lot does not make one a verbminx. I have wanted to write lately, but everytime I sit down to do so I find myself in a fog. The other option is churning out loathsome poetics, but I don't think the world really needs more of that. Poor trees dying so angsty teenagers can write about death and vodka.
"Once upon a time, there was a bright bird wandering around a neighborhood where time had stopped. She shuddered to see a hat festooned with peacock plumes."
=/ hmm. nope. not tonight.
I'm about to eat potato-corn chowder. This confuses me, as I thought all chowder was either corn or... *shudder*... clam.
It occurs to me that I should work on living up to my nickname. Talking a lot does not make one a verbminx. I have wanted to write lately, but everytime I sit down to do so I find myself in a fog. The other option is churning out loathsome poetics, but I don't think the world really needs more of that. Poor trees dying so angsty teenagers can write about death and vodka.
"Once upon a time, there was a bright bird wandering around a neighborhood where time had stopped. She shuddered to see a hat festooned with peacock plumes."
=/ hmm. nope. not tonight.