Vernacular
The brown girl is back from all her travels. And the reason you didn't hear from her sooner is because C, the slave driver, got her to "help" with his basement work. OK, this post is beginning to sound racist and even my not-so-strong conscience won't let this go. No no, a bunch of things have kept me occupied, the foremost of which is inertia. I seem to have given up regular blogging a while ago and I just couldn't get myself to get my laptop out after dinner, etc to write about something uninspired and uninformative. Not that such things bothered me when I was on the blog train. Anyhoo, to start things off, here's something from recent history. ***************** It's 2:16 AM and I am eating a lemon-orange mini muffin that I am only minimally interested in. My right knee feels weird and I'm wondering if I am suffering anaphalactic shock and how one spells anaphalactic. This is what life has come to