(no subject)

I wrote this last night, and got sidetracked by serenades coming from the room next door. So it gets posted today.

Nine inches of powder. Is it simplistic of me to feel that with nine inches of powder god is smiling on me? (Well, nine inches of powder, a freshly waxed board and a room mate with a car.)

I had a wonderful day on the slopes of Purgatory, which was why I sat down to write, but I just read my friends list, and now I'm wisting.*

I'll cut it, because I'm not sure how coherent the rest of this post is. ( So...here. Another diatribe about love. Another entry about romance. Ironic? Well, whatever. )

On the upside, package goes out to the Myster today, I am going to the art store, my stitches come out, and by gum, we're going to see Evita! Rock on.

*Wisting: the verb form of "wistful"

(no subject)

In and out of the art library in under ten minutes.

Go me.