Friday, April 04, 2003

Dog Tired

Mowed the yard today - back and front of jungle hacking with a pocket knife - and learned the first half of a fully choreographed number at Company rehearsal. My blisters have blisters and Nike left me a message chastising my treatment of their shoes. Also, Bob Fosse called from beyond the grave and threated to have Tommy Tune come and break my legs so I can't dance.

Since I stayed up till 2am to finish my manifesto below, my contacts now have this film over them reminiscent of the day I was caught in a snowstorm with no power to the windshield wipers. matbhyo sakyjwqihu mry9mh029y7uy*ht,,,,,, I mean my hands wander places over the keyboard that you don't want to know about, and I'm off to bed. Night, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.

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