Full of holes of indignation

And everything's alright here. We got the Raygun EP on much too loud, but that doesn't matter because there aren't any neighbours to complain.

Worked on my spotting across the livingroom floor, spinning in circles one way, with my eyes trained upon the MC Escher, and the other way with them on the Picasso. Reprints, of course, because it's not like I can afford the real ones. But I'm still no better at it than I was when I was six years old because I tripped and fell over the chair.

I suppose I could move the chair, but then I would just fall over the table behind it.

And on the menu for tomorrow is a wrap that I made out of random things I found in my fridge: chickpeas, shredded carrot, cucanumbers, green onions and chives and cilantro fresh from my balcony. I ate some oregano right off the plant and it was pretty potent. It burns.

Tomorrow maybe I'll have asparagus and cream cheese.

I don't have any capers here and that makes me sad.

Then I'll have to get some of those really heavy ziploc freezer bags and make eggs in a bag again. You crack eggs into a bag, squish them around with some cheese and onions and maybe some peppers and pepper then boil the bag, like we used to do at Guide camp. If boiling water and salad tongs aren't your thing you could use the dishwasher, I guess, but that's cheating. It's absolutely delicious.

I can't tell you how much satisfaction I get out of the simple knowledge that when the blinds are down on all of my windows I could be dancing around naked in my apartment and you wouldn't know it. Clothes are overrated.

But Raygun, I love that song.