Puddle of Skin

Well folks, it seems the sun has kicked it up a notch.

The sun is like that drunk guy at the party who likes to start fights with everybody; but if you avoid him and compliment him enough when directly in his path, he struts a little and puffs his chest at you but mostly lets you be.

(Today’s barely passable simile is brought to you by a heat-exhausted brain.)

Warning! System meltdown!
photo courtesy of Flickr and miss karen

More Like Recordorable!

in case you thought my life was glamorous, you would be right.

it’s colder inside than it is outside! and it’s only february!

*global warming dance*

i’m listening to sad songs on recorders (street name: fipple flutes HAHAHAHA). the very same genre popularized by kids with recorder solos during school concerts in 4th grade (before everyone got to pick a “real” instrument).

the lulling sarabandes and the frisky gavottes that caused non-solo kids’ parents to dab at their eyes and applaud, thinking “i wish MY CHILD were gifted and talented.” recorder solos were brilliant. in the proper atmosphere, the recorder solo equates with the image of swans swimming on ponds and admiring their dapper reflections while in the foresty background, fairy nymphs practice the cute little run that fairy nymphs typically do.


i make eye rain.
photo courtesy of Wikipedia

but taken in any other context, no one even realizes the gravity of the matter, or cares. cruel hand that fate dealt “greensleeves” and internal duct flutes.