I want ice cream. I shouldn't have ice cream, as not only will it mess with my diet, it will make me feel ill. But I think my stomach is trying to get back at me, still. All my internal organs are against me; I'm sure my ovaries are preparing to lead a mutiny. I will die not in some horrible blazing ball of death (presumably due to God smiting the Tahoe with me in it, an action that is long overdue given what goes on in that car), nor of old age in my sleep, nor from being eaten by a mad walrus. I will die because my insides will one day simply decide they've had enough of me, and just stop working for no discernable reason. Doctors will be baffled. And that walrus will go hungry. Poor walrus.
I drew a picture of Makenzie, and gave her hair extensions in the form of bright pink and yellow braids and curls (sadly, the bright pink and yellow match the ENTIRE PICTURE. Someone poured pink lemonade on my brain). I blame the influence of pussinboots for my sudden attraction to hair extensions. I cannot have them due to El Job, and even if I could, I really think I'd be far too fussy about them (i.e. they'd have to match everything I own, and not being able to wash my hair at any given moment for any given reason would annoy me), but they are FUN to put (or draw) on other people. I will cling to pussinboots to learn how to actually make them, leeching knowledge off it like... a leech.... -y .... thing...
I think it'd be cute for someone to do blue-green extensions where the green was rickrack (I believe that's what it's called, it's like a zigzaggy ribbon) so it looked like seaweed... and maybe a few plastic goldfish were tossed in. That description sounds weird, but it looks cute in my head. Quiet, all of you.