Firstly, this SLAYS me.
"I can't imagine how weird it must have been to have some woman run onto a train, shove a skull in your hand and tell you it's yours. So I'm just writing this to let you know it wasn't a voodoo ritual, an ominous mafia warning, a gang initiation, or a misguided attempt at getting to know you better. I truly thought you dropped your skull."
Second, it is with fondness and a tug at the heartstrings that Nick and I will be moving out of the Postage Stamp apartment next month. We will be taking over Lola's lease when she moves to Portland. It's undoubtably a smart move, since this place will be bigger, in a better neighborhood, I can paint the walls, I'll have my own washer/dryer, it's closer to work and I can have a dog (or six). And believe it or not, it's cheaper. Nick's bikes will have their own room. I'll have a ittybitty craft room/closet. Mentally I'm already arranging the furniture and shuffling through paint samples. I will love it.
But I don't love it YET, and I will prolly cry when I leave my sweet little apartment. For the last two years it's been my own little refuge, the first place I rented entirely on my own. I will miss my neighbors, Twink, that one kitchen drawer that won't close. So much laughter has soaked into it's walls that it radiates back at me.
I will also prolly cry when it comes time to move the giant heavy bookcase.
Thirdly, I need one of those cone thingies they put on dogs to keep them from biting at their stitches. You know when I burned my arm? Well, five days of bandaids, and pulling them off daily to clean it has left the skin around the burn almost as irritated as the burn itself, and at this point I want to CHEW on it.
Please continue sending candy.
"I can't imagine how weird it must have been to have some woman run onto a train, shove a skull in your hand and tell you it's yours. So I'm just writing this to let you know it wasn't a voodoo ritual, an ominous mafia warning, a gang initiation, or a misguided attempt at getting to know you better. I truly thought you dropped your skull."
Second, it is with fondness and a tug at the heartstrings that Nick and I will be moving out of the Postage Stamp apartment next month. We will be taking over Lola's lease when she moves to Portland. It's undoubtably a smart move, since this place will be bigger, in a better neighborhood, I can paint the walls, I'll have my own washer/dryer, it's closer to work and I can have a dog (or six). And believe it or not, it's cheaper. Nick's bikes will have their own room. I'll have a ittybitty craft room/closet. Mentally I'm already arranging the furniture and shuffling through paint samples. I will love it.
But I don't love it YET, and I will prolly cry when I leave my sweet little apartment. For the last two years it's been my own little refuge, the first place I rented entirely on my own. I will miss my neighbors, Twink, that one kitchen drawer that won't close. So much laughter has soaked into it's walls that it radiates back at me.
I will also prolly cry when it comes time to move the giant heavy bookcase.
Thirdly, I need one of those cone thingies they put on dogs to keep them from biting at their stitches. You know when I burned my arm? Well, five days of bandaids, and pulling them off daily to clean it has left the skin around the burn almost as irritated as the burn itself, and at this point I want to CHEW on it.
Please continue sending candy.
4 Comments:
unless your burn is a giant open wound, i wouldn't put a bandaid on it. the blister (if you have one) is bandaid enough. let it air out and it should heal fine on it's own.
I would but it's really sorta gross looking and it's freaking out the customers. It's at that stage where it looks less like a burn and more like a tropical skin disease spreading up my arm.
just tell them you have the dengue. they'll leave you alone and you won't have to explain what you have more than once, especially if you slap a "quarentine" sticker on your desk.
That's a brilliant idea. 'Specially the sticker part.
Post a Comment
<< Home