Mom brought my grandma and the highest-functioning crazy aunt to visit today, but they didn't stay very long. I have nothing interesting from Netflix and am not motivated to go sign up for a Blockbuster card. Neither am I optimistic that Blockbuster would have adequate inventory. I guess I could watch Hard Day's Night DVD that is still in its shrinkwrap two months later. Or I need to finish PGSM. I could be done by midnight. OR...I could watch Darby O'Gill and the Little People on streaming Netflix. HMMMMM.
Pictures of home, exclusive of second bedroom, bath, and kitchen, because filth. He finally hung my mirrors, and sometimes I lean against the long one and hope to fall through to where I was born, but it came from my dead grandmother's house, and I think it has hardened with age and will never transport me again.
Pushkin makes squeezy eyes at Back to the Egg. He poses as the Buddha in the center of my floor, and we can breathe the same air
No comments:
Post a Comment