I have no patience for diaries. I write my life on my calender, instead.
The cat likes to bite my face. Is this a form of affection?
My clock has the words "Don't Panic" on it. Too bad I don't listen to clockwork.
"Don't patronize me with cookies."
Odd. As he describes the short story he read for book club, they keep looking at me and giggling. Sure, it's a story about "squid dudes" who worship Elvis... but still.
as typed by the cat.
Where did she learn such profanity?
Eighteen and I finally succeeded in staying up until midnight. This is one of my more pathetic accomplishments.
Philosophical Insight IX:
Do the points on a graph get nervous as they approach the asymptote?