Reading about a book a day is rough.
I get the A.D.D. and don’t actually give a shit if a character is still On The Road, or if he’s found himself.
Sometimes that Billy Crystal/When Harry Met Sally trick is a good way to read a book.
I love spray cheese on celery sticks.
Yoga was easier the second week, but I still got a raging headache within the first five minutes of class.
Looking into Ph.D programs gives me a headache.
I seem to have managed three, possibly four trips this year. This year. The broke year. Whatever. If the Mayan’s are right, then I’m not going out w/o facetime with the people I love.
I love watching my cats on catnip.
The beat writers were searching for the same things we’re all searching for. I admire that about them. Of course they searched with lots of pot and sex. So there’s that difference.
Trying to give a cat a pill can prove deadly, if not impossible.
I have a sleep disorder. Undiagnosed yet proven in that…I don’t ever sleep.
I miss sleeping.
When I take the time to boil eggs for my tuna salad it makes it so much better.
I don’t quite know if I like the HBO series Girls yet.
I hate it when I can see, so clearly, that someone is sleepwalking through life and accepting that fate, and can do nothing about it.
And NO. I’m not talking about you. About one person that any of the readers here would know. But if you automatically think I AM talking about you…well. I’d say you’ve answered your own question and are on the road to waking up. 🙂
I need a massage.