23.11.2004 ~ 2:45 am
This is going to be one of those my-brain-has-gone-out-of-the-window entries.
It's not the headphones; my left ear really is deafer than my right.
My house is starting to resemble a real house and not a crap sound stage of a production company that has no money and thinks that paper and magazines everywhere creates the Lived-in Feel.
We have lamps. Lamps everywhere, which makes it a real house.
I have a green* lamp. I also have green* bedclothes. What has Habs done?
I love his hands. He was talking about an American artist who painted American Indians and American landscapes during that period in the nineteenth century. I think it was called Perfectionism. I might be confusing bits of APUSH. They were all laughing at his unprepared encomium and I was falling asleep, eyes level with his nervous left hand grasping the podium and that was when I noticed.
*Kind of like where the text is on Nic's Aqualung site.
<< You're the only story that has never been told. (Sort of.) >>
