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Much as I expected, cards till 5 in the morning and pie. Andy and I synchronized our computers to play classic rock at the same times after networking them to trade music. Andy is an editor. He has AMAZING timing. Quadrophonic speakers really, really work on Pink Floyd and Blood, Sweat & Tears. All day I've been sleeping and listening to stuff Andy gave me and David and we might make another sword. I feel sick. Are you mad at me? I said a long time ago to tell me if you were. I can see why you might be.
Robert took me to town to get ice in his still-fairly-new car. It could be flying, but it is close to the ground. Flying in a car is not like a motorcycle, but I don't want to die. Bill is getting less careful. Robert, part of the pride, is more casually skilled. The puppy is twice as big as she was three days ago. The fleas don't bite me, they just walk. I don't taste good. It's a pleasant kind of primitive, that instead of complaining about the things you have to pay people to fix, you can do anything yourself. The second story on the garage is almost up. We haven't lit a fire yet. We haven't changed the Texas Constitution yet. But we have talked and talked and planned the castle and when David says anything it becomes real, more real than if you just think it. He has done everything he tried. I forgot to bring another shirt, and I am glad his clothes smell like him. Like real stuff. The men in my mom's family are all capable. They do work. To see them in winter thickness is strange, but I suppose they are getting older. David is still too real, though. The anatomy book can't capture the glide of his dragony arm; it takes the D&D guidebook to get close to the intention and potential. He taught me to weld, to tape and float wall, screed concrete, that glass can be melted in a fire if you improvise a bellows. You don't have to know everything to do something. You can try it, because nobody's an expert anyway. If you get a scar, oh well, but now you know how.
Andy wants Symphonic Dances. I'll transfer it for him. Open minds catch the most. My hair doesn't get in my face anymore. It all fits in one band. 39528 and the orchestration is calling me.
Robert took me to town to get ice in his still-fairly-new car. It could be flying, but it is close to the ground. Flying in a car is not like a motorcycle, but I don't want to die. Bill is getting less careful. Robert, part of the pride, is more casually skilled. The puppy is twice as big as she was three days ago. The fleas don't bite me, they just walk. I don't taste good. It's a pleasant kind of primitive, that instead of complaining about the things you have to pay people to fix, you can do anything yourself. The second story on the garage is almost up. We haven't lit a fire yet. We haven't changed the Texas Constitution yet. But we have talked and talked and planned the castle and when David says anything it becomes real, more real than if you just think it. He has done everything he tried. I forgot to bring another shirt, and I am glad his clothes smell like him. Like real stuff. The men in my mom's family are all capable. They do work. To see them in winter thickness is strange, but I suppose they are getting older. David is still too real, though. The anatomy book can't capture the glide of his dragony arm; it takes the D&D guidebook to get close to the intention and potential. He taught me to weld, to tape and float wall, screed concrete, that glass can be melted in a fire if you improvise a bellows. You don't have to know everything to do something. You can try it, because nobody's an expert anyway. If you get a scar, oh well, but now you know how.
Andy wants Symphonic Dances. I'll transfer it for him. Open minds catch the most. My hair doesn't get in my face anymore. It all fits in one band. 39528 and the orchestration is calling me.
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