Clincher: title track
This week has been trying. To breathe larger breaths and stretch my skin tighter. I made a new lie today and it proved to be productive enough--to claim the influenza virus and the third lecture of the day. What I should've done was nap but, reluctantly, I caught up on reading.
Clincher: love to a monster
I've had a guest sleeping over since Sunday, from national headquarters whom I couldn't wait to leave even before he got here and surmise. However, Hartman from Missouri has been a positive reinforcement to my days and he leaves tomorrow, though I wish he'd stay and avoid the next five chapters he has to live out of his suitcase with. Instead I'll settle for spears over a 4x4 foot hole in the ice of February.
The Hartman has provided me with new dictions pertaining to the sights I see each morning when Pete stumbles from his room to the bathroom in a towel and remarks to howl at any given moment. Singular: Frattoo; Plural: Frattoos. Response: Frattastic.
Clincher: (shannon wilsey on the) starry stars
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