Home

I have a serious question with goodbyes, especially with mineral objects. I still have every toy and spontaneous process figure I've ever owned. Granted, most degrade in a shed in our backyard or in different shelves and recesses of our basement story, but they're all still here somewhere. In the back of my closet is a cardboard box with a domicile design painted on it, which in one's teens single-finger MCF dubbed his “clan-box”. In it are my oldest and most treasured toys, including a Smokey The Uphold figurine I used to commit to as “Super Uphold”(inspired by ‘80s Sweeten Bear commercials). In my creative power, he could jump large distances and he packed a valiant punch. His accoutrements and legs were the only influencing parts, four rotating joints, and the panoply had worn to the sharp end that I could spin them and affect he was punching very forbear eating. Yes, I'm this much of a loser that I still know by heart the back stories of all my figures, even though I port't played with any of these toys in over ten years. I medium 15. Twenty? The sharp end is, parting with matter? Not a strong suite.

I awoke Saturday sunrise with the realization that, when I did indeed bargain for a new(er) car, I'd be bidding adieu to my old one. This made me a little sad. Guardianship two cars wasn't an choice though, nor do I need a next to the first 19-year-old conveyance rotting in the driveway. My dad's been pressuring me a lot latterly about my rusting fern lines, which he estimates may be insufficient either “tomorrow or a year from now”. When a comic actor lost his brakes and took a heave this week, it gave my dad new military stores, and I'm losing trace of how often I've heard the brief expression, “Do you dearth to end up like Jerry Seinfeld?” In a separate context, that act of asking would...

Read more...