But there's no character that goes with "Sunday" by Trish Murphy. So I'm sitting on the couch, just sort of thinking inward, with her melancholy "And the cop orders the New York club/so the waitress steps around the blood/the last remaining sliver of/some south-flying dream..." on endless loop.
I will be surprised if any of you even know that song. Heh.
* Had physical therapy today, which means no nap. Got very little done today. Still with the not-writing.
* MRI of wrist tomorrow; hopefully they'll be able to fix the damn thing soon.
* Finally blew up my chef-in-a-box and Ascended today. Am a Sauceror this time.
* Split ends. Must get haircut.
* When we leave this place.... I am jettisoning so much stuff.
* I want to leave this place.
* The last remaining sliver of some south-flying dream...
* I'm going to go watch Boondocks now.