That's great, dancingthrulife!
I just went food shopping with my parents. They both see this incessant need to repeat themselves in reminding me of things that are ridiculously obvious. And they can't just tell me once, they have to tell my five times. My mother is turning into a carbon copy of my grandmother, and to boot, they both saw fit to talk for about half an hour total about my mother's stitches in her eye; I begged them not to because it made me really squeamish, but they thought that was funny.
When I came home, I went to turn on two of my lamps, and three lightbulbs blew. I don't know if I have any replacements.
I'm not sure what to do today. I think I want to watch Brokeback Mountain, but every time I open the DVD case and consider watching it, I end up just putting it back on the shelf. I think the emotional purgation will be fairly therapeutic, but it also makes me think of things I don't want to think about -- though, I'll think about them anyway, so I guess I might as well just watch it. Maybe it'll alleviate some of my frustration, in a roundabout way.
A work of art is an invitation to love.
Updated On: 5/13/06 at 12:04 PM