I need to move along...move something into its own small place and hold it there like a delicious secret waiting to be told...
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In the past week, two of my friends' mothers have died. I love my own mom so much...I find it hard to spit out the expected words of sympathy and comfort...because what comfort is there when that rock is gone?
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The landlord put a new floor in my bathroom today and whoo doggies, I got me the ugliest faux marble floor this side of Cicero...at my last home (also owned by the same landlord), the bathroom was covered in wood panelling. (Actually, the entire downstairs was covered in panelling, hence D's nickname for that place: "The Cabin". But, I digress.) Anyhow, this guy's got a knack for unintentional retro decorating...
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Every time I go to the mailbox these days I feel like Charlie Brown on Halloween..."I got a rock". No one writes letters anymore.
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Oh God, that last sentence sounded like an old-lady saying. Eep. I sometimes wonder if I am heading into a long and lonely old age during which I will talk to my cats (more than I already do, that is), and sit out on the stoop of my building yelling at kids and engaging people in long, pointless conversations...Kinda like this diary now that I think about it...
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