Salutations to my moldy writing space

Hello blog, I'm quite hungry now. The stove doesn't have gas at the moment and the gas delivery guy is running late, so we have to order pizza. Trouble is, Older Sister is on the phone which means there is no way to call pizza people to feed us. As we do not believe in microwaves and instant noodles, we will have to starve until Older Sister gets the point and obligingly lets us dial 911.

911-11-11 that is.

Well now, hungry rantings of my stomach aside, how are you? I haven't wrote to you for weeks now. I've been saving it all in my head, but then the catchy soundbytes don't seem as good when I write them down, so I wave good-bye to that entry for the moment. It's two days til the New Year. I sent a future email to myself, by the way. I'm going to receive it on my 22nd birthday. Hopefully the world will still be spinning by then (and that the apocalypse hasn't come yet, as the ancient Mayans had predicted) and I can still rule the world and distribute the continents to my friends. That is, if the melted icebergs haven't sunk the good cities yet.

Oh here you go. The gas just arrived, the same time that Older Sister finally allowed Parental Unit One to use the phone to call the pizza people. Huzzah.

I don't have much to tell, except that I haven't done anything particularly useful (I wrapped gifts though, does that count?). I wrote down everything I was supposed to do last night, in black angry letters with exclamation! points! all over it. As I said before, I sadly have to report that none of those tasks are checked yet. Oh the lethargy! It's infectious! There's nothing like a day spent sitting on the couch. Just terrifically sitting, not even watching tv. Lounging is a meditative activity, like the way cows chew their cuds all day. You chew your thoughts, after which you roll in the grass and sleep in the sunshine.

My older sibling is doing a "study" on emo, by the way. In my unwanted personal opinion, I think it's a dangerous and decidedly uncomfortable topic. Undefined. Highly debatable. Volatile. Kind of like deciding Michael Jackson's innocence, you know? It's one of those pop culture things that no one has quite put a finger on, and it's usually best left alone to thrive, mutate and slash itself to depressing little pieces.


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They're calling me to my chores. Toodles.