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Post-orgasmic interruptions are the most evil thing ever. Well, maybe a close second to nanosecond-preclimax interruptions, but that is totally irrelevant right now. ----- Tonight (last night, depending), I was bored. I figured it is going to take my legs a while to recover from my last anti-boredom experiment and therefore spared my legs (That wasn�t the great idea I had envisioned it to be (itchy itchy, scratchy scratchy, oooh I didn�t shave my backie), though it wasn�t horrible.). Anyway, when burning white candles, they occasionally develop a thin coat of blackness (charred wax, one may deduce.). Since I would be painting over it soon (I have been planning to paint my room for months), I should draw all over it with the blackened candle. And if I didn�t like it, I could always just sand off the wax and start a new design (or better yet, use REAL paint). I finished one fifth of my east wall (as a matter of fact, I DO have my own castle. (no)) ----- If you tell him what he wants to hear, he�s much easier to deal with. ----- I have a feeling that emptying the virtual Recycle Bin wasn�t the greatest of ideas. ----- Dearest Legality, I have no clue what draws people to me. I am honestly very surprised anyone would like to be me. I would say *I* want to be me maybe only 50% of the time. Post-Orgasmic Me says that�s way off base and that I�m actually a fairly happy person. Everyday Me shoves his way past POM, back into my head. POM and EM proceed to argue over my HQ (Happiness Quotient). As the war of words continues, ISHIASOA (I Slide Helplessly Into a Sea of Acronyms). ICTWYQ, TMAIAA (In Case That Wasn�t Your Question, Tell Me and I�ll Answer Again) ===== GASD (goodnight and sweet dreams)
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