(The intense focus of boy Rizzo)
Ah, sweet weekend. Tomorrow we will have a birthday party for the boy. Three years old. Wherever the time goes it goes there exceedingly fast. Time is like bacon, always gone too soon.
I feel as if I've said that before. I love bacon. I know I've said that many times before. I have invited bacon into my heart, like a pork christ.
I think I've used the picture above before, as well.
Today, I will go shopping. I need things for the new apartment. Lots of things. It'll be fun, the feeling of starting a fresh life. The quality of newness seems to cheer me a bit.
There is still much to do there. My life is in boxes, again. I only have enough shelf space for half of my books if I also unbox the few records that I kept. Or, I could buy more shelves.
Everything costs more than I have, or more than I wish to spend, even at Ikea.
I really should look elsewhere. My life has been too long decorated by the Swedes and their cursed particle board.
I do things now that I never did before, watching the price of stocks rise and fall. I have been warned not to do so, but I am a curious sort. The fluctuation from day to day fascinates me. I await the next economic bubble to burst. One day I will log on and see that my future has disappeared just as quickly as my past.
Nobody ever goes to jail.
Well, maybe a couple of the Enron guys did, one or two of them.
Ah, sweet justice.
Rachel just asked me what I am writing about today.
I have absolutely no idea.
.
