May something or other, 11:49 p.m.:
I can't believe the day's gone by so fast,
Time to see what we have time to see--
Turn the projector on! First shot Roger,
With the Fender guitar he just got outta hock--
And nevermind my digresses into RENT.
Too late to type and be coherent. Too late to go to sleep, though I'll hate myself in the morning. Time to console myself my Keats and Randalph H. Ash, though I rather suspect he's not as she asserts him to be all over in my head. (Byatt does a stellar job at that.)
I don't even want to Wikipedia him to know for sure. It'd take something away--and not only my suspended...whatever.
Late. 11:54, and I'm debating if I want to go for another jog tomorrow morning. Good night.
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Smatterings and Matterings--or Nothing Much At'oll
Smatterings and Matterings
or nothing much at all,
make the
the ramblings and the fetterings
of one sunshine-burn girl.
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