I am completely content sitting on the couch watching Golf on NBC. I think this is one of the first steps towards being a real adult. There is no reason for this.
I would sit here all day if I didn’t have to go to work.
I don’t want to go to work, but I shouldn’t complain. I should be happy that I am getting work. That I even have a job. (except as I was writing this I got a “being yelled at” phone call. I guess State st. ran out of Mochi. I hate mochi, nobody ever looks for it.)
That sucks because I was going to starting writing about nice things.
Our lives are like books. We have to turn the page in order to find out the truth. When one page seems like it is wrong. Maybe you need to read the chapter again to find out what it really meant.
My book? It is long. Everyones is. And sometimes I feel like mine is written in a way that I can’t understand it, and when I try to read others books they can seem so clear. I like to keep my book open for everyone to read if they want to. I don’t censor certain words, or tear out any pages. What you see is what you get. Some other books are not clear at all. I am not sure how to read some books, and I am sure some people don’t want me reading their books.