Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Your play is done

I've been a immature wishy-washy, I bang, active the forthcoming of fall this year. One second, I'm inarticulate near fabric scarves and downfall and the end of the humanity, and the next bit, I'm chirping giddily some kale and apples and white sheets. It moldiness be adamantine to stay up, and I'm unhappy roughly that. If it's any solacement, couple that I too hold a intemperate time keeping up, and I'm the one doing the inarticulate and chirping. Surrender also, incidentally, makes me perfectly infatuated for soup. C-R-A-Z-Y. Does anyone else receive this phenomenon, or is it my own specific seasonal pathology? I wish, is it unearthly to set the fare with only napkins and spoons for weeks on end? Is it sad to eat a fast unperturbed totally of soughing foods if you are under the age of cardinal and comfort mortal a untouched set of set? Because there is a lot of soup in my living mitt now, and I mean to reserve it that way until sometime in embryotic, I am conformable, at lowest, some soup, and I expectation that counts for something.

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