My eyes are still pink. At night, I can hear them muttering their Marxist propaganda to my ears and my nose and my lips, trying to subvert the rest of my face to their insidious empire's cause. I've been inside for three days in an attempt to contain the situation, lest a plague of antibourgeois body parts rise through the city. Can't have that. It starts with the eyes. Always the eyes.
Tomorrow I break quarantine. I'm done. I've been inside for three days straight watching movies and playing interactive fiction on my computer. I don't think I can do it anymore. I need fresh air and fresh food and fresh vantage points. Literal fresh vantage points. I've been staring at the same four white walls so long I'm starting to think I live in an asylum.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Catherine Lacey...
A little earlier this week, I received a comment from my friend Lacey that she has a blog and has linked mine to hers, and I kind of thought, "I'll give her a little while to get the thing off its feet before I put it up." That was four days ago, and her blog has not only gotten off its feet, but has somehow learned to run before it learned to walk. That's not including the two other blogs she has up. Wow.
Anyway, she's a good writer and a lovely person (and apparently quite the cook/arts-and-crafts maker), so check out her blog. Lord knows it's more active than this one.
Oh, and she's funny, too. Did I mention she's funny?
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2 comments:
awwww. Thanks Matt!
Anytime. And you don't look like an architect, by the way.
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