I hope you're getting the shield
Yeah, well, I'm still listening to Drake and wishing I had more time to learn how to re-enjoy my ex-hobbies
It turns out that sometimes, when people say "oh, my ex" they're not actually referring to ex-girlfriends (or boyfriends; ex-girlfriends before ex-boyfriends on Thursdays because Thursday is ladies' night pretty much everywhere) - they're in fact referencing past experiences, because women aren't objects.
Is writing a hobby? I had the neighbours (where neighbours are things I heard) mock me for holding on to this lifeline, and sometimes I find myself doubting if the neighbours are real because they sound like fire, police, and ambulance sirens. According to the neighbours, they're real, and sometimes I treat my housemates like neighbours because if I don't I worry that I, too, have an aging memory.
Anyway, the big bus is still in my life. The big bus is the big tiger, except the big tiger doesn't pretend he's a bus because if he did, he would be Hobbes and I'm kind of sick of Hume, too, but don't let el tigre know that I came back and edited my blog after publishing another entry.
Do I seldom ask questions? I seldom ask questions in person because the answers are never quick or bright enough for my liking. Instead, I ask questions around hundreds of people because it seems like the brave thing to do, and also because I like making sure that people around me are on the same page as me.
Does weed cause ego trips? Do weeds cause ego trips? There's a naturalistic argument in here somewhere, but I'm worried that now I am partitioning sentences in paragraphs that are being partitioned inside blog posts which themselves are being treated like partitions inside a giant machine - or worse: a giant algorithm, and now you know how I live.
Do plants protect human beings from robots? Yes and no. Some plants are sturdier than others, and I find it difficult talking about plants without mentioning the cellulose in the room: are pink cells a sign of salmonella? If so, Eschereschia coli is probably still an issue and I still haven't gone swimming this summer, but I still have yet to find an editor worthy of my precious time so I continue to write until the authorities with too much power fuck me up again.
Oh, content warning is up there now, because I'm not a coder (and have never pretended to be one, except when I talk HTML) and because sometimes I like to swear. Rest assured that all you future professors and teachers out there, robotnik or not, will be able to take excerpts from this blog if you pay for my law team i.e. if you're from Ontario, then that's already done.
Don't take this to mean that I actually give a damn about other people. If I cared about people, I wouldn't be spending my time the way that I am, apparently, because love is hard to come by when all you remember is how to write the word without fail.
I thought I would take a break, but I forget how to string paragraphs together because of the rough time I had whilst working in the financial/entertainment district. I got to smoke cheap weed (and later vaporize it) and I got to make a profit which I then used on my university education and then university was like nope, you're an arts student and I was like yeah, but I paid money for my safety glasses so then they gave me a refund after two months and I spent that money on the wrong things, but that's what happens when your budget gets stolen - or worse, suspended.
Yeah, well, I'm still listening to Drake and wishing I had more time to learn how to re-enjoy my ex-hobbies
It turns out that sometimes, when people say "oh, my ex" they're not actually referring to ex-girlfriends (or boyfriends; ex-girlfriends before ex-boyfriends on Thursdays because Thursday is ladies' night pretty much everywhere) - they're in fact referencing past experiences, because women aren't objects.
Is writing a hobby? I had the neighbours (where neighbours are things I heard) mock me for holding on to this lifeline, and sometimes I find myself doubting if the neighbours are real because they sound like fire, police, and ambulance sirens. According to the neighbours, they're real, and sometimes I treat my housemates like neighbours because if I don't I worry that I, too, have an aging memory.
"I've never really been one for the preservation of money"
Probably because I feel one for the loss of the penny
Rolling pen bags in the dime daily doing rows
Selling notes like similes weekly whilst rolling in the k-scope
Anyway, the big bus is still in my life. The big bus is the big tiger, except the big tiger doesn't pretend he's a bus because if he did, he would be Hobbes and I'm kind of sick of Hume, too, but don't let el tigre know that I came back and edited my blog after publishing another entry.
Do I seldom ask questions? I seldom ask questions in person because the answers are never quick or bright enough for my liking. Instead, I ask questions around hundreds of people because it seems like the brave thing to do, and also because I like making sure that people around me are on the same page as me.
Does weed cause ego trips? Do weeds cause ego trips? There's a naturalistic argument in here somewhere, but I'm worried that now I am partitioning sentences in paragraphs that are being partitioned inside blog posts which themselves are being treated like partitions inside a giant machine - or worse: a giant algorithm, and now you know how I live.
Do plants protect human beings from robots? Yes and no. Some plants are sturdier than others, and I find it difficult talking about plants without mentioning the cellulose in the room: are pink cells a sign of salmonella? If so, Eschereschia coli is probably still an issue and I still haven't gone swimming this summer, but I still have yet to find an editor worthy of my precious time so I continue to write until the authorities with too much power fuck me up again.
Oh, content warning is up there now, because I'm not a coder (and have never pretended to be one, except when I talk HTML) and because sometimes I like to swear. Rest assured that all you future professors and teachers out there, robotnik or not, will be able to take excerpts from this blog if you pay for my law team i.e. if you're from Ontario, then that's already done.
Don't take this to mean that I actually give a damn about other people. If I cared about people, I wouldn't be spending my time the way that I am, apparently, because love is hard to come by when all you remember is how to write the word without fail.
I thought I would take a break, but I forget how to string paragraphs together because of the rough time I had whilst working in the financial/entertainment district. I got to smoke cheap weed (and later vaporize it) and I got to make a profit which I then used on my university education and then university was like nope, you're an arts student and I was like yeah, but I paid money for my safety glasses so then they gave me a refund after two months and I spent that money on the wrong things, but that's what happens when your budget gets stolen - or worse, suspended.
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