sunday

It' sunday morning.
Friday night's litter is crushed on the sidewalk.
The Happy Birthday Princess ! balloon is down the street
At least what is left of it that is
Okay i wanted to write this poem on sunday morning it would have been better
but now its tuesday and I hardly remember the weekend. I just remember walking home was like an indie film set in the lovely allston village, which is an indie film in itself.
so it's not sunday morning, it's tuesday and I couldn't get that poem to rhyme.

my mother told me that if i leave the hair dryer on i'll die in an electrical fire

apparently 3 and a half hours is as long as my hangover can take to hit me. wake up, 3 and a half hours later, 5 swim lessons later is when it happens. I felt fine. I taught those kids how to glide. we did jumps, we did kicks. I felt fine. I needed to continue my day this way. Eating was a bad idea. I should have stopped with the egg in a frame. I should have stopped drinking all that yerba mate latte. 15 antioxidants you'd think it could fix a hangover. God, what did I do last night. My body is taking revenge. It knows it had a great time. I felt fine.

gossip

girls talking about boys
boys talking about girls
girls talking about boys talking about girls
boys talking about girls talking about boys
girls talking about girls talking about boys
boys talking about boys talking about girls
girls talking about boys talking about boys
boys talking about girls talking about girls