The prosciutto didn't look like a tomato I wanted to eat, but it was okay because it wasn't a tomato. I sang a song to Christian Bale because he didn't have any feelings.

I smacked into a parked car. I burned my pale skin red.

We accidentally watched hours of tigers and a heroic mouse instead of the anniversary show. I dreamt that I played an active role in Swedish politics and hurricane tracking.

I killed one fly with coffee and I killed another fly with a Post-It note. Lucas said he killed a fly with his ruler.

The Northern Lite album, sadly enough, sounds like old Moby. A.R.E. Weapons on Last Call sounded like the Harlem's Big Brown Shoe demo that we would play to clear the store on occasion.

I don't know if it's a sinking ship or if it's only taking on water. We need new everything.

I don't mean to always gripe or not talk to Bob Delbert forever then gripe, then apologize too much and sit at home under my bed with my armadillo doll retching and sputtering and moaning. I solved my Herbert List mystery.

I was listening to Reagan SS. Now I'm listening to Gayrilla Biscuits.

I told Greg that I felt like a cougar with a rabbit baby in its cage. I told Greg about how Seth is protective like a mother bear and that sometimes we are the bear babies.

I had cookie cereal for breakfast. Peter said he was officially aghast and I imagined him trying to float through walls.