Why do I feel like writing today is like lobbing a ball into the air?
Focus.
What was I doing?
Oh, yeah.
Writing.
The daily bit because it's what I do.
Most days it's easy to not think too much about other people reading this except as a very loose filter.
But today it's kind of hard since the interstices has its own party goin' on.
The phrase "the inmates are running the asylum" runs through my head.
Repeatedly.
I don't know how my sisters can maintain this.
My face hurts from laughing...
*****
thoughts while patching holes in the wall.
I am alive.
This is a good thing.
I resolve to make this decade better than any that preceded it;
that I will smile a lot;
that all the webs in my room will find its home (the vacuum);
that my friends will never doubt that I miss them;
that I'm missed as well;
that someone will lick chocolate off my chubby cheeks that I will not be ashamed of;
that I will turn off this box...
...crapz...