cimorene

i dozed and woke up an hour anna half later with a sore throat. was i yelling in my sleep? the world may never know.

my mom has no instinct for cleaning. i imagine it's like if you try to get the wrong gender of bird to build a nest. she's like, standing there, and it's like--weren't all those bits of junk on the table an hour ago? and she's meanwhile stacked a stack of folders on the counter and spritzed it with 409 and wiped it down, and moved another stack from one messy table to another, and she's going 'oh no, what happened to the folder labeled powerpoint?' and 'what did i do with those files you gave me?'

lillian went out for the day with her friend, and came home... with the best friend... and the best friend's dog. who's on a leash, in the kitchen prowling around, and he GROWLED at perry, and perry was only sniffing him! so i took perry out in the hall and shut the door so they bring whatsisface in the hall. 'perry,' says lillian exasperated, 'PERRY!' and shoves him in the room with me and shuts the damn door?

bitches.