Current mood: there is nothing good about virginia woolf at all.
It has not so recently come to my attention that I am absolutely unclear the majority of the time. Especially when I'm writing/existentially blabbing and lost somewhere. It's not because I'm especially smart that I'm consternated continually. Consternated is exactly constipated but with thoughts. I think it is because I have poor eating habits that I am frequently both. Onward from those two bits the following is a titled, Dinner and the Doctor. –A true story of Wednesday’s events. That is exactly what it is about, my actual dinner yesterday. Yesterday being the day I also went to the doctor. Proceed my faithful.
Dinner and the Doctor
Spinach leaves on moldy pumpernickel. Squeezed vegetable dip right from the container. There’s a glob on the middle of the bluest part of the bread. Covered it all with fiesta cheese. Ate it over dirty dishes still in the sink. Lights in the kitchen were off the whole time. What a joke. –And a gross one at that. Doctor says, “You lost five pounds.” He also says I’m healthy. Also says I’m piqued. If he only knew…
And know you know some things.
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