today is cold. i don't like it and so i will write in tiny uncapitolized letters to show how small and short and tiny and COLD i feel. i think i am shrinking into a frozen little ice cube. you know that feeling when you keep pulling in closer and closer to yourself in some strange attempt to mainting body heat.
ok. i will stop tying such strange and unusual things. i will not stop typing in lowercase though.
i will resist the urge.
its cold. its the first day of spring. and instead of having spring fever... i have spring freeezer.
its awful. i should be outside planting my morning glory seeds on the front side of the white picket fence (the one i want remove from our yard, but probably won't do until next fall.) instead of planting seeds i am slurping coffee at eastbongo and sitting on my coat because the chair is too cold. i can't complain... this is nice. very nice. but the latte would prefer it had been iced, had the temperatures not dropped so low.
"anything else i should say taylor?" i ask across the table
"what are you writing about" he says
"just stuff." i say
"tell them rivers run in circles" he says
and i stop the dialouge because this poetic idea he came up with today is really not working for me.
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