Current migraine is kicking my ass.
Chickens grow really fast.
Why would anyone ever need a knitted tennis ball cover?
It’s not as though …
Slow moving.
Not a lot on my mind today, which frankly has been lovely. Aside from the pain and nausea, that is.
Middle of May. Middle of May.
Cuppa tea.  Cuppa tea. Cuppa tea.
I can’t find the list.
This is lovely.
Still think the Redhead made an excellent choice.
I didn’t tell. You couldn’t have known.
And it rains.
I wish I could find the list.
Gorram ticks.
I haven’t been there in a very long time.
There are 22 days remaining.
Corn muffins. I would like corn muffins. Warm and buttery.
Maybe I should take the summer off. See who’s still there in the fall.
We’re doomed.
Mind your manners, squidlet.
Sometimes I think you’re just trying too hard.
It’s like a train wreck. You’re full of morbid curiosity and smug self righteousness.
The zombie ate the hobo.
Whistling past the graveyard.
Why does everyone want to make me drive north in July at $4+ a gallon?
It was indeed a bizarre dream. Lady Gaga and Madonna in a huge rivalry. I was in the hospital, but the hospital was a huge old Victorian mansion. It smelled oddly wonderful there.
There’s another Olsen sister?
Head stop now please. Enough hurtyness.
I miss Millennium.
How do I only have the Highlander on VHS?
I’ve given him a wide berth.
Goodbye, Charlie.
Were Lady Gaga and Madonna in the hospital with you? I’m trying to figure out if I should picture them each in nurses’ uniforms or straitjackets or just backless gowns. In the case of the latter, I’d much rather see Lady Gaga’s butt.
Lady Gaga was there but not Madonna. And Gaga kept trying to sing one of Madge’s songs.
What choice did the Redhead make? And where is Charlie?
Glasses. Bobby Darin song – they’re doing you in …