New phone. Activation woes. Three phone calls to Verizon. Dad hooked up the old Snoopy phone.
Saturday night. Les Misérables. Lots of singing. No dialogue. Stunt fall gone awry. Broken glass. How did anyone ever get far enough into the book to find a plot for a musical? A BLT. Dollar bill air force.
It's not that I don't want to blog. It's that in between all the internet TV and homework, I can't seem to find the time to write and write well, which means you end up getting weird stuff like this, which I could probably pass off for poetry if this were 1923, instead of the cleverly worded anecdotes I feel you've come to expect.
The truth is, blogging is approximately 20% for you and 80% for me, to pick two arbitrary numbers that nevertheless reflect a realistic kind of distribution. I blog because I enjoy it, because piecing words together is fun, because spinning yarns is in my blood. Blogging is about playing.
I just don't have time lately.
Listening to: Being Human
Reading: The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman