I just climbed up the vine to the castle on 407 Pedregosa St.
Sits on a cloud called 2008-2009.
Foundations, relations, annotations. What the fuck?
Video form.
07 December 2010
02 December 2010
My pictah
I listened to Cocorosie, Beirut, and James Brown. Still not enough done on my picture...
but hell, I basically began drawing tonight, and we had two weeks to complete the thing.
Now my dilemma: Skip class tomorrow, making it unclear whether I have done the assignment, but get marked absent; or go to class, admit I'm STILL not done with a flippin' TWO-WEEK project, and be sad and mortified?
Eh?
What ta do?
but hell, I basically began drawing tonight, and we had two weeks to complete the thing.
Now my dilemma: Skip class tomorrow, making it unclear whether I have done the assignment, but get marked absent; or go to class, admit I'm STILL not done with a flippin' TWO-WEEK project, and be sad and mortified?
Eh?
What ta do?
29 November 2010
17 November 2010
I dreampt I was dogsitting a grey great dane and a long-hair yellow mut. They had a habit of running at me and trying to bite my hands. Every time, I said, "No!" and reminded myself to stand my ground, not run. Finally I let them just bite my hands--and when they chewed and chewed, it didn't even hurt that much! It never broke the skin. And after that they seemed harmless. Loving, even.
07 November 2010
02 November 2010
'Tween seasons
Winter bleats distantly in the forest. Soon it'll sing against our faces...
I voted today! Friday I'm off to NYC to hang out with Sam Petry, Cleo 'n company, and perhaps Hannah Kalifeh. I'll check out the Met before its Chinese exhibition closes, too.
:)
01 November 2010
16 October 2010
Smear the queer
Got nutmeg lunngs
Looking for your pixelated
visage on Kinsey's
scale, you
elude
The eye
Remember when we played smear
the queer?
You weren't as hot then
Seasons go
You won't be hot then
Freckled pot bellied
wreck of muscle
Looking for your pixelated
visage on Kinsey's
scale, you
elude
The eye
Remember when we played smear
the queer?
You weren't as hot then
Seasons go
You won't be hot then
Freckled pot bellied
wreck of muscle
?
Captains fight & die
Burnish mint bronzechests, foreheads
knock 'em into the altar
Spill lifeblood on the floral
garland
Dye peplos
hug trees
As last cloudy words
Splash
unctuous rock
Cacophony.
"Son, sift that soul
Through the gate
See you in the shades one day."
Mom, I tried
to preserve it
couldn't do a thing when the flash
flood came
14 October 2010
06 October 2010
4 in the morning
It's four in the morning and no one should be up. But SOMEONE is hogging the bandwidth. I know this because my funny cat video is taking too long to load.
09 September 2010
Forcing rectangles to connect to triangles.
A hoop in flames hovers above the poodle. It leaps. It comes out burned.
And here we go.
The girl asked me what I'd done. I advertised the sacred and cheapened the holy. I wrapped it in cheese and meat and threw it outside.
What's an act? A bear in the dark. Stripes of moonlight over its face. What's a memory? A blunder of fur and scars wearing a halogen vest.
Lo siento! I didn't mean to nullify magic. But that visage....I drained its power. Again, I'm sorry. You think this mental fingering of beads will change the fates?
What's an act? A bear in the dark. Stripes of moonlight over its face. What's a memory? A blunder of fur and scars wearing a halogen vest.
Lo siento! I didn't mean to nullify magic. But that visage....I drained its power. Again, I'm sorry. You think this mental fingering of beads will change the fates?
05 September 2010
03 September 2010
02 September 2010
Something today is manic, angry, reactionary, tired, full, and empty. I keep drinking water and eating food at the same time. I walk ceaselessly and nap aimlessly. Then I spend actual money on food, which causes me to retaliate by stealing food from Kline Commons--but then, why did I? It's not like I need more food. I just didn't want to waste my meal swipe. Aaaaahh, human folly.
Drawing class was so good.
My stomach is so full.
I want to take a break from this place, my clothes, my face, the people I know. I want to go into a dark hole, and not think about anything except music notes and clean vibrations.
EHCKQ!
Drawing class was so good.
My stomach is so full.
I want to take a break from this place, my clothes, my face, the people I know. I want to go into a dark hole, and not think about anything except music notes and clean vibrations.
EHCKQ!
30 August 2010
19 August 2010
Today was such a giftful day! My L&T teacher gave us several gifts: First, even though we have to go to a mandatory open mic reading, she arranged it to be in the art building and is chipping in to buy us ice cream! Second, she gave me something I'd wished for: an extension on the 10-page paper! I've only written three pages and it was going to be due tomorrow, but she's letting us turn in the revision on Monday!!! Third--and this is the topper--we get the morning off, so we can SLEEP IN! And when we do come to class, we're going to read MLK, Jr.'s "Letter from a Burmingham Jail."
Monday's devoted to talking about "Docile Bodies" (boring) and meeting about essays. So from here on, it should be fine! I'm sooooooo relieved. I woke up feeling angry for repeated sleep deprivation and current menstruation.
I just got another gift. I had walked back home from class in the heat, wearing boots. My friend Annie wanted to meet me at the computer lab, but I couldn't face another long walk. Instead of trudging, I thought, "Why don't I bike there?" I asked Kat if I could use her bike. She said yes. I couldn't find Annie at either of the computer labs, but that gave me an excuse to ride to the north reaches of campus. I haven't ridden a bike in a month. The movement in my lungs and the breeze in my face, the speed of going down hills--all of that was fucking blissful. :)
Monday's devoted to talking about "Docile Bodies" (boring) and meeting about essays. So from here on, it should be fine! I'm sooooooo relieved. I woke up feeling angry for repeated sleep deprivation and current menstruation.
I just got another gift. I had walked back home from class in the heat, wearing boots. My friend Annie wanted to meet me at the computer lab, but I couldn't face another long walk. Instead of trudging, I thought, "Why don't I bike there?" I asked Kat if I could use her bike. She said yes. I couldn't find Annie at either of the computer labs, but that gave me an excuse to ride to the north reaches of campus. I haven't ridden a bike in a month. The movement in my lungs and the breeze in my face, the speed of going down hills--all of that was fucking blissful. :)
16 August 2010
14 August 2010
I just remembered the feeling of loving him. Something deep is still there. Like a pod. A seed. A bean. Not even tangible..even though we weren't working on a friendship level or committing level, I got something from him no one else has ever given me. It's insane.
I miss him. That's all there is to it.
I miss him. That's all there is to it.
21 July 2010
College
Rolling around and wrinkling my brow to indecision, indecision, indecision. Moral scales, practical hangups.
There's the cost and risk. The brand-new fundraising deadline. The fate I'd have if I didn't go to school as planned. (Many possible scenarios could be dreampt up. I don't know how many I'd enjoy.)
I await advice from someone who doesn't know me. Someone who broadcasts their opinion to the general public. I'm counting on a verbal sign.
There's the cost and risk. The brand-new fundraising deadline. The fate I'd have if I didn't go to school as planned. (Many possible scenarios could be dreampt up. I don't know how many I'd enjoy.)
I await advice from someone who doesn't know me. Someone who broadcasts their opinion to the general public. I'm counting on a verbal sign.
17 July 2010
Huh?
"What’s a Face To Do" by Tina Turner N. Hooch
The hint of crabbleberries being juiced always turns the nose.
Wash away my plumbing sins, use Moses as your hose.
Go to market with our yield, steaming still in buckets.
I used to ride the mule but then it died so I say fuck it.
Rasin Bran.
The hint of crabbleberries being juiced always turns the nose.
Wash away my plumbing sins, use Moses as your hose.
Go to market with our yield, steaming still in buckets.
I used to ride the mule but then it died so I say fuck it.
Rasin Bran.
30 June 2010
Nap from 10:30 to 1:00
I dreampt I was in New York city containing some rabid rabbits. The leader bit me before I put him away.
I walked down a street, aimlessly, following a 40'sish, fit Italian-looking guy who had a trench coat and a newsboy cap on. Or I think he was following me. Then he came around me as another, larger Italian-looking guy approached. They stopped facing each other on the sidewalk. I stopped, too, behind the first guy. Then he physically pushed me away--I remember feeling my shoes scrape on the concrete--a few feet, as if to say, "Go away. This is private." They messed with knobs on a control panel on the side of a brick building. I got out of there, they must have been mob types.
Then I was at a table cutting pieces of paper with a couple older dudes and a couple little kids in this big backyard under a loft (like a swingset bench, almost.)
A 20-something guy with chin-length light red hair hit on me. I was coldly aloof, and he knew it but didn't care. He asked when he could see me, I said "I'll call you," but didn't ask for his number. Then he asked what percent chance he had of my calling him, and I lied and said, "30." I remember he talked a little marble-mouthed. His lips had the appearance of being swollen, as some lips do. "Well that's still a good chance," he said. Night fell. There was a stage in the backyard. He started playing music. I went over to a trampoline and listened. He sounded like he ripped off Thom Yorke a little bit.
Then Cleo got to the show. She saw the guy, and, having been informed of his affections, insisted that I hook up with him. "This is perfect!" She said. "He's so cute!" We were sitting in front of the drum set where he played and sang, so I was self-conscious about her loud talk. But I looked up at his profile and saw that, yes, he was pleasant-looking. And an overall nice person.
She was bent on making me stay. When he, his manager, and a few friends, were sitting with Cleo and I while I attempted to pack, the musician asked how long I was staying in New York. Cleo told him I was staying a few more days. Not my plan--but whatever. Her vision of me and this guy seemed practical now, even likely. Especially when I saw a stop-motion music video he made. I thought, "How did I pass this up?"
Then I was in a tiny stand-alone kitchen, with steps leading up to it and a window. I arranged spices on shelves, and tapped the shelf after each move, as if I was clicking the mouse on a laptop. I pondered this half out loud, and spelled out my thoughts on an imaginary keyboard compulsively.
At some point Ian sent me a letter on Facebook saying he was coming to New York and wanted to see me. The salutation went from "Love," to "Injuredly," the second time I saw it. (Wtf?)
Some time in this dream I stood in an art gallery with the siblings, Kapil, and his Mom. His mom talked about having owned an art gallery. "What doesn't she do?" I wondered.
Then I was sitting on the ground trying to conjure up facebook in the sand to look up the musician's name. The colors were green and black. It kind of worked....I picked up an internet connection.
Morning came. I was laying in bed with the nice red haired guy. I felt totally friendly toward him and he toward me. He listened to his iPod and asked me, "What's something German to listen to in the morning?" I described to him a videogame in which small football players ran around the desert hitting big football players in the head with huge mallets and gulping up the little footballs (like Mario coins.) It was a jest...he had been a football player, I think. As I sat up on the foot of the bed, a fuzzy sleepy feeling around me, I noticed he had nice muscles. I didn't remember having sex with him and wondered how I ended up in this bed anyway.
I went into the kitchen of this house. Cleo was there with the siblings. She started boiling water to make pasta. I suppose earlier, the musician had told me he wanted pasta before he left for the next tour stop. The fat noodles came out and were delicious. He came over and appreciated them.
Then he went into the adjoining room, out of view, sitting with some other people on couches. The short-haired blonde chick from SBCC choir served everyone mixed drinks. She came to him and he rejected one. For a moment, I thought, "Oh good, he's chaste. He'll respect that I don't want to smoke weed." But he said, "Last time he got "knocked over." All my siblings and I laughed about this phrase. "It's like knocked up and hung over!"
Then in a flurry, I was packing in the backyard again. The musician wasn't around, had probably left to tour. I couldn't remember his name, but I wanted to hang out with him more. Luckily I found his manager and discovered he hadn't left. In casual conversation the manager dropped his full name--Nat Taylor. I pictured it written out with the first T as a backwards seven.
Next part: I was in the airport with Nigel and other peers. We were going to be scanned. A recent scandal from the news, of a girl who purposefully faked a new bomb, had added to the list of banned items. She had put the bomb in a soft cooler lunch box--which Nigel brought in the door, and had confiscated from him. Kids our age filed through the four metal detectors. Nigel and I were in a line on the left, and it was finally our turn! But the airline people paused the process to face the metal detectors another way, and because of the flipped configuration, the people on the right were in front, and we were in back.
Then dad yelled something and I woke up.
I walked down a street, aimlessly, following a 40'sish, fit Italian-looking guy who had a trench coat and a newsboy cap on. Or I think he was following me. Then he came around me as another, larger Italian-looking guy approached. They stopped facing each other on the sidewalk. I stopped, too, behind the first guy. Then he physically pushed me away--I remember feeling my shoes scrape on the concrete--a few feet, as if to say, "Go away. This is private." They messed with knobs on a control panel on the side of a brick building. I got out of there, they must have been mob types.
Then I was at a table cutting pieces of paper with a couple older dudes and a couple little kids in this big backyard under a loft (like a swingset bench, almost.)
A 20-something guy with chin-length light red hair hit on me. I was coldly aloof, and he knew it but didn't care. He asked when he could see me, I said "I'll call you," but didn't ask for his number. Then he asked what percent chance he had of my calling him, and I lied and said, "30." I remember he talked a little marble-mouthed. His lips had the appearance of being swollen, as some lips do. "Well that's still a good chance," he said. Night fell. There was a stage in the backyard. He started playing music. I went over to a trampoline and listened. He sounded like he ripped off Thom Yorke a little bit.
Then Cleo got to the show. She saw the guy, and, having been informed of his affections, insisted that I hook up with him. "This is perfect!" She said. "He's so cute!" We were sitting in front of the drum set where he played and sang, so I was self-conscious about her loud talk. But I looked up at his profile and saw that, yes, he was pleasant-looking. And an overall nice person.
She was bent on making me stay. When he, his manager, and a few friends, were sitting with Cleo and I while I attempted to pack, the musician asked how long I was staying in New York. Cleo told him I was staying a few more days. Not my plan--but whatever. Her vision of me and this guy seemed practical now, even likely. Especially when I saw a stop-motion music video he made. I thought, "How did I pass this up?"
Then I was in a tiny stand-alone kitchen, with steps leading up to it and a window. I arranged spices on shelves, and tapped the shelf after each move, as if I was clicking the mouse on a laptop. I pondered this half out loud, and spelled out my thoughts on an imaginary keyboard compulsively.
At some point Ian sent me a letter on Facebook saying he was coming to New York and wanted to see me. The salutation went from "Love," to "Injuredly," the second time I saw it. (Wtf?)
Some time in this dream I stood in an art gallery with the siblings, Kapil, and his Mom. His mom talked about having owned an art gallery. "What doesn't she do?" I wondered.
Then I was sitting on the ground trying to conjure up facebook in the sand to look up the musician's name. The colors were green and black. It kind of worked....I picked up an internet connection.
Morning came. I was laying in bed with the nice red haired guy. I felt totally friendly toward him and he toward me. He listened to his iPod and asked me, "What's something German to listen to in the morning?" I described to him a videogame in which small football players ran around the desert hitting big football players in the head with huge mallets and gulping up the little footballs (like Mario coins.) It was a jest...he had been a football player, I think. As I sat up on the foot of the bed, a fuzzy sleepy feeling around me, I noticed he had nice muscles. I didn't remember having sex with him and wondered how I ended up in this bed anyway.
I went into the kitchen of this house. Cleo was there with the siblings. She started boiling water to make pasta. I suppose earlier, the musician had told me he wanted pasta before he left for the next tour stop. The fat noodles came out and were delicious. He came over and appreciated them.
Then he went into the adjoining room, out of view, sitting with some other people on couches. The short-haired blonde chick from SBCC choir served everyone mixed drinks. She came to him and he rejected one. For a moment, I thought, "Oh good, he's chaste. He'll respect that I don't want to smoke weed." But he said, "Last time he got "knocked over." All my siblings and I laughed about this phrase. "It's like knocked up and hung over!"
Then in a flurry, I was packing in the backyard again. The musician wasn't around, had probably left to tour. I couldn't remember his name, but I wanted to hang out with him more. Luckily I found his manager and discovered he hadn't left. In casual conversation the manager dropped his full name--Nat Taylor. I pictured it written out with the first T as a backwards seven.
Next part: I was in the airport with Nigel and other peers. We were going to be scanned. A recent scandal from the news, of a girl who purposefully faked a new bomb, had added to the list of banned items. She had put the bomb in a soft cooler lunch box--which Nigel brought in the door, and had confiscated from him. Kids our age filed through the four metal detectors. Nigel and I were in a line on the left, and it was finally our turn! But the airline people paused the process to face the metal detectors another way, and because of the flipped configuration, the people on the right were in front, and we were in back.
Then dad yelled something and I woke up.
24 June 2010
23 June 2010
New Line
Wistfully hallucinating, glopping two people into one. Some stuff never got done.
Don't want a vessel of garnish and leather, don't want to be sewn against a lover. But my unconscious doesn't know.
[But] Now the pressure's off to continue my stride of fanciful ease and productivity. My empire shrinks silently; burrowing, I wait for the tide to wash away detritus of an old love affair. The following wave will arrive in approximately one month. I go to New York. How splendid. How special.
My actions are post marked June 23rd. I whisper to the future, "Do me good, okay?"
Don't want a vessel of garnish and leather, don't want to be sewn against a lover. But my unconscious doesn't know.
Will the horse of destiny run toward the barn, reins aflutter?
How can I catch her? Obviously the way to go is right into the barn wall, or right into the dirt...it hurts the best and makes the most sense.
[But] Now the pressure's off to continue my stride of fanciful ease and productivity. My empire shrinks silently; burrowing, I wait for the tide to wash away detritus of an old love affair. The following wave will arrive in approximately one month. I go to New York. How splendid. How special.
My actions are post marked June 23rd. I whisper to the future, "Do me good, okay?"
17 June 2010
Thinking
We could pee in the sink, eat out of vases, and, fresh out of the shower, wrap sleeping bags around our damp bodies. This house has three ipods, a zune, an xbox, two digital cameras, many musical instruments, an amplifier, dead cell phones.
This dwelling abounds with half-used, hoary tubes of paint, and splintered CD cases.
We don't have family meals
We have family NPR
Carpel tunnel caresses my hands. Their ligaments sing, tenacious.
Lord, I need a thesaurus.
Completed one hand stand and have cranky wrists to prove it. No video tape. I'm no narcissist. Waiting for Hole album to rip, taking all the music and dumping souls in the computer.
It bugs
This essay that's due responds to the possible trend of kids skipping college. What unique argument can i make? I'm not skipping college. My friends always need justification. Maybe my opinion should be, "Since it is a common choice, those who skip four-year-school to be in other institutions ought to be regarded as 'normal.'"
My friends who are skipping college perplex me. I reflexively see them in a stigmatic light. To myself I say, look at their course of action logically. Ask, "Why is this frightening, weird, and bizarre?" Perhaps their plan serves. Perhaps it doesn't. But what about the status quo makes it so taboo, and why aren't I allowed to cross that line, either?
Reflection on the stigma, from the point of view of a kid whose friends are splitting off to "do their own thing.
This dwelling abounds with half-used, hoary tubes of paint, and splintered CD cases.
We don't have family meals
We have family NPR
Carpel tunnel caresses my hands. Their ligaments sing, tenacious.
Lord, I need a thesaurus.
Completed one hand stand and have cranky wrists to prove it. No video tape. I'm no narcissist. Waiting for Hole album to rip, taking all the music and dumping souls in the computer.
It bugs
This essay that's due responds to the possible trend of kids skipping college. What unique argument can i make? I'm not skipping college. My friends always need justification. Maybe my opinion should be, "Since it is a common choice, those who skip four-year-school to be in other institutions ought to be regarded as 'normal.'"
My friends who are skipping college perplex me. I reflexively see them in a stigmatic light. To myself I say, look at their course of action logically. Ask, "Why is this frightening, weird, and bizarre?" Perhaps their plan serves. Perhaps it doesn't. But what about the status quo makes it so taboo, and why aren't I allowed to cross that line, either?
Reflection on the stigma, from the point of view of a kid whose friends are splitting off to "do their own thing.
15 June 2010
What?
Two ways to be speechless:
prefaced
"I don't need to say anything to you."
paired with brazos, ojos, and smiles, what need you say?
"Right on," I reply.
or....
perplexing silence; Wondering what I said, how it was prompted,
vacillating between melancholy and regret
The latter is old, put in place by a lover The former is new, born an hour ago, and I'm still high from the fumes.
prefaced
"I don't need to say anything to you."
paired with brazos, ojos, and smiles, what need you say?
"Right on," I reply.
or....
perplexing silence; Wondering what I said, how it was prompted,
vacillating between melancholy and regret
The latter is old, put in place by a lover The former is new, born an hour ago, and I'm still high from the fumes.
12 June 2010
08 June 2010
I'm in a skip divided malfunction
I flap around and divebomb
Frantically around your light
Enveloped in a sad distraction
I got your voice repeating endlessly
Could you guide me in?
Could you smother me?
I swoop around your head
But I never hit
I'm blinded by your daylight
Electric veins have passed through me
I thought there was this big connection
I only got my name
I only got this situation
I just need a number and location
Without appropriate papers or permissions
I'm known to bite in tight situations
And as I head into your french windows
I thought there was a big connection
I only got my name
I only got my situation
I just need my number and location
And the mole keeps telling me
Hey hey hey hey hey hey
The devil may
Hey hey hey hey hey hey
You are a fool, you are a fool
For sticking 'round, for sticking 'round
Yeah you are a fool, you are a fool
For sticking 'round, for sticking 'round
I've tried every trick in the book
I've tried to look in you
Every trick in the book
Well how come I lose?
No one can undress your elliptical caress
Don't look into your eyes
Cause you're desperately in love
In love, in love
When you walk in the room everything disappears
When you walk in the room it's a terrible mess
When you walk in the room I start to melt
When you walk in the room I follow you 'round like a dog
I'm a dog
I'm a dog
I'm a lapdog
I'm your lapdog, yeah
I just got a number and location
I just need my number and location
Thom Yorke "Skip Divided"
I flap around and divebomb
Frantically around your light
Enveloped in a sad distraction
I got your voice repeating endlessly
Could you guide me in?
Could you smother me?
I swoop around your head
But I never hit
I'm blinded by your daylight
Electric veins have passed through me
I thought there was this big connection
I only got my name
I only got this situation
I just need a number and location
Without appropriate papers or permissions
I'm known to bite in tight situations
And as I head into your french windows
I thought there was a big connection
I only got my name
I only got my situation
I just need my number and location
And the mole keeps telling me
Hey hey hey hey hey hey
The devil may
Hey hey hey hey hey hey
You are a fool, you are a fool
For sticking 'round, for sticking 'round
Yeah you are a fool, you are a fool
For sticking 'round, for sticking 'round
I've tried every trick in the book
I've tried to look in you
Every trick in the book
Well how come I lose?
No one can undress your elliptical caress
Don't look into your eyes
Cause you're desperately in love
In love, in love
When you walk in the room everything disappears
When you walk in the room it's a terrible mess
When you walk in the room I start to melt
When you walk in the room I follow you 'round like a dog
I'm a dog
I'm a dog
I'm a lapdog
I'm your lapdog, yeah
I just got a number and location
I just need my number and location
Thom Yorke "Skip Divided"
16 April 2010
Missing a little fun
I forgot to relax. And not just rest or vegetate. Smile and release, have fun ENERGIZE. Where is that? What motion should I stop? Vacation was a breeze, fantastic, perfectly tuned for my state. It's impossible to duplicate it.
I want live music to ring in my sternum. Give me friends and unfamiliar city capitals. Fuck work/school productivity.
Heh. Now I have insomnia. Probably PMS, if not caffeine and stress.
I forgot to relax. And not just rest or vegetate. Smile and release, have fun ENERGIZE. Where is that? What motion should I stop? Vacation was a breeze, fantastic, perfectly tuned for my state. It's impossible to duplicate it.
I want live music to ring in my sternum. Give me friends and unfamiliar city capitals. Fuck work/school productivity.
Heh. Now I have insomnia. Probably PMS, if not caffeine and stress.
06 March 2010
!
I HAD A ROMANTIC DREAM.
A VERY ROMANTIC DREAM.
I also dreampt about visiting part of the Marymount Manhattan campus, decorating a dorm room, listening to a college girl's jaded complaints, and finding a box of iPods,
stealing water bottles and drawing portraits of kids in airports.
Oh, me.
A VERY ROMANTIC DREAM.
I also dreampt about visiting part of the Marymount Manhattan campus, decorating a dorm room, listening to a college girl's jaded complaints, and finding a box of iPods,
stealing water bottles and drawing portraits of kids in airports.
Oh, me.
28 February 2010
There is no denying it
Fatter but denying it, I stare at myself, can't tell what the outside sees. The frequency of my observations desensitizes me to the picture of my own body.
Where to go from here?
Must I stop enjoying what I eat?
Explore the four letter word, d-i-e-t? Or embrace e-x-e-r-c-i-s-e beyond the bare minimum bike rides and 20-block walks?
Does it matter what I look like? If I adopt the attitude, "Who cares?" am I justifying gluttony or actually ignoring scrutiny?
We have yet to see.
Where to go from here?
Must I stop enjoying what I eat?
Explore the four letter word, d-i-e-t? Or embrace e-x-e-r-c-i-s-e beyond the bare minimum bike rides and 20-block walks?
Does it matter what I look like? If I adopt the attitude, "Who cares?" am I justifying gluttony or actually ignoring scrutiny?
We have yet to see.
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