To dance upon the wind...

People are quite like bubbles, I think. It all begins with a breath of life, a dripping wet mess, and then off we fly into whatever may come. Bubbles are wondrous, fragile, all too temporary orbs of beauty and light. They cannot control their fate any more than we can when the wind decides to change its course. Those that choose to fight the wind will undoubtedly break under the strain, and those that follow the currents may find themselves popped either way.

What nice cabinets you have...

I have no fucking idea what it means to be a grown-up.

Is swearing a part of it? I’ve certainly had that covered for a while now. Then again, I can recall many a time hearing some awful little elementary school prick kid screaming obscenities at his mother in the middle of the grocery store. That being the case, my extensive sailor speak vocabulary puts me on par with that little shit. Groovy.

Facts...

It’s 9:51 PM.

It has been dark for almost five complete and total hours now, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I like the sunlight, but at the same time I feel most productive during the darker twilight hours.

I do not enjoy the Twilight series. I’m all for team ‘burn that atrocity.’

Scavenger Extraordinaire...

My biggest issue in the days following our Lady Sandreline has been a lack of work. The tiny shop from which my rent and food money is derived resides in lower Manhattan. Lower Manhattan, for those unaware, was without power and train service for about a week after the whole storm blew by. Train tunnels were flooded floor to ceiling, trees that had stood for many times over my age in years were uprooted and found blocking roads and crushing cars, and at night the normally sleepless city was eerily dark. With many key holding managers stuck in the world beyond the PATH train (New Jersey), I have spent my days walking the city in the hopes of something interesting.