I am not hungry; I am bored.
and apparently the floor is lava.
so I must stay on the couch or rug.
or lift my legs while working at the typer.
don't get eaten by spiders, she says.
I won't, don't worry, I say.
the doorbell rings.
and it is Marty McFly.
September's firewood is soaked.
my favorite (only) shorts have a hole.
the whole world is weird.
the stimulus package is spent.
a big ol' coffee.
a bunch of burps from the living room.
some scares.
who really cares out there?
I wonder if that gal in NYC.
ever got my goddamn postcards.
Hmmm, oh well.
time to go swimming.