what am I to do
I can't help it
A touch tipsy from a bowl of cereal and a glass of Robert Mondavi red wine my fiancee's father (future father in law, mine) gave me for Christmas, I'm sitting in the yellow/bumblebee room on my new desktop computer, wondering if the fingers still work after all this time. They appear to
But the mind has gone to rot, more or less, a noted after effect of too much time spent in front of a computer monitor, eating bowls of cereal and drinking wine (wine with a punch, it seems, this evening, enough to make the breathing easy, enough to make my toes go numb). My (our) guinea pig is going ballistic downstairs because I've not let him out to feast on the throw rug under the glass coffee table, between my erstwhile perch and hers, and I realize I should ought to assuage the beast, as Comcast crashes again and again, forever into the night.