Well, a spring, from a scrapyard. And, a new boot on the CV joint. It wasn’t even bad, just the scraping broken spring. I’m retarded. I’m still exhausted. The paint dried nicely. I still have the window to do, and the closet, and another coat on the ceiling and walls in the shower/toilet section. Another few hours of paint slinging, at least. I need a breather.
I have food to cook, but the kitchen is occupied. Part of me wants to finish painting before I shower, but part of me thinks it will wash out some kinks. We’ll see what happens.
I’m halfway expectingMadisonto tell me to go to hell. Then what will I do? Same thing you always do, retard, find a temp job and start finding a new batch of people to never want to talk to again.
Sometimes I only like bands for moments, but I’m allowed to do that. I need to make some food. I bet the kitchen is free. Should I tweet a bit? Yes.
10 45 pm now. I finished painting, ate dinner with a brother of an old friend of my dad’s, and cooked a batch of stew. It’s simmering in yumminess and cooling at the moment. I’ll go jar it up a little bit later. I let the beans fully soak, so they cooked faster, better. Ounce of prevention, you know. Whatever.
“I have nothing new to teach the world. Truth and non-violence are as old as the hills”
that’s fucking stupid. Outsourced war is less accountable. Why the fuck do you think those organizations exist?
what, say 11? Who cares. Posterity. Posteriority, perhaps. Pshaw!