--They Sounded Much Like Children (Short)
--Boxing (Short)
---> Finding the typer. I need that typer.
--Or 23 and a Half Hours of Boxing
23 and a Half Hours of Boxing? Not a bad idea, Bianca. But not a good one.
I re-read Cufflinks and the admiration stuck. That's new. So I must be doing something post-adolescently. Something. Is it the jargon of a dead poet, or is it the lack of a plot and substitution of "Reader's Choice"? Or is it the consistency? Or is it the first attempt. It's all of the above. But Pattie and the Sheep aren't going anywhere. Neither is the Road Kill Inspector. She's staying right here. Staring at her dead cat, splayed across her jogging path. GOOD MORNING, WORLD!
Word Of The Day- Popinjay.
Snazzy, yes?
So, you may have noticed I've addressed a certain typer in my recent posts. I've decided to abandon my 3rd semester with another rather iridescent trait that I hold closely to my head: rationality. She will be taking a long walk on the beach, and I will set up an add for her in some newspaper. But until that plot wears off, I'll wear her off. Tricky! And then I will fill her hiatus of a semester's worth of work with the typer. The typer and the dictionary. Because I refuse to use choppers; I use knives and spend 30 minutes to chop an onion. Does that make you think me naive? Nay. Hard work does not produce a satisfactory product until the work grows weary with failure. Fail, fail, fail, then one day you will not fail. And that day will overshadow the rest, I think. I think.
WHAT THE HELL!
I just had an epiphany, about a day ago.
I must go, on that note.
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