I’m horrible at critiquing other people’s writing, so I just did a totally half-assed job of it. L’Owen’s going to bite my head off in class tomorrow.
I did a—well, not even a half-assed essay for my history class last night. I guess I just don’t feel much like doing homework these days. I blame it all on work.
I can’t really remember what I dreamed last night—something about sewing this really cute skirt “by hand”—meaning, with nothing, not even a needle. So…magic, then. And I did something else the same way. Then I woke up with “I’ve Got No Strings On Me” stuck in my head. I know it was somehow related to the dream, but I can’t remember in what way.
Wal-Mart refuses to sell black jeans that I like, and I wore out the pair I got from them when they were cool. I’ve got to go to the mall to find more. They will be expensive, because Wal-Mart’s the only one with decently-priced jeans.
I’ve been so busy half-assing my way through homework I haven’t seen the new Once Upon A Time yet, so I have no idea if it’s good or not.
Sorry for my scatterbraininess tonight; I feel sort of unfocused after my homework.
Last night we had that weird chicken cordon-bleu again—the kind that’s just fried chicken with a slice of ham and melted cheese on top. Everyone always stares at it like, “What the bloody hell is that?” As I said to Sandra, it’s like how Superman wears his underwear on the outside—it’s backwards. I’m going to start calling it Superman cordon-bleu.
Then we ran out of fried chicken, so Bob started bringing out this skinless stuff, and I said, “And look, now Superman is naked.” Sandra could not stop laughing for a very long time.