259 emails in the inbox and counting. When will there ever be time enough to respond? And then there are the emails that I’ve sent that haven’t been responded to: I think we’re all in agreement about why not.
New Cold Stone mixture: mocha with raspberries and peanut butter. As Andrew said, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the bread. And then the mocha ice cream part. So not a sandwich at all.
Avoidant nationality; disparate maturity. It’s not that I don’t want to grow up, it’s that I won’t.
Spur-of-the-moment purchases that are never purchased. More debt is not what I need, but I consistently think about a feather comforter, or at least a new mattress for my futon. Things that need to happen sometime, but guilt prevents me.
Still, a lot has been done. By me. The intransitive, so I can remain modest.
No bloodbath at work, merely a civil meeting of minds and egos. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so confused by a group dynamic. Some people are angry with me for supporting my boss’ decision, which is a good one. I don’t get to defend myself, because I am guilty by enthusiasm.
Can there be so much to feng shui? My bed, pointed to meet the sun in a perpendicular fashion, instead of sliding alongside it each morning, makes me happier than a hundred bigger things.
Selfless acts for selfish reasons. What is best done now is best done, or not at all. Persistence is the hobgoblin of little blinds.
And you think me a fool, a fool for remembering the place but not the time. I tell you that to keep it all inside my head assumes I know what it meant in the first place.
If you’re going nuts, do it with style. I’m tired of boredom from the trenches of insanity. Take yourself to the edge; I’m not driving Miss Crazy.
Someone was singing in the parking garage. It sounded like a ghost, and I want to be haunted.