So yesterday was Ash Wednesday. That’s the start of lent for you heathens out there. Went to church pm rather than am and at least this meant I didn’t have people coming up to me all day saying, ‘you’ve got dirt on your forehead.’ Yes, thank you, wankers.
Last night didn’t water the garden. Obviously sane enough to not go through the ritual. Plants will probably die now out of spite. Dog looked at me with weird expression and just knew he was thinking, ‘come on, come on, we need to go out the front, yeah, yeah, so I can wee on the trees, and the neighbors yard, and the letter box…’ Memo is on a never ending quest to block out all other animal scents in a sixty meter radius of our house. It’s quite a hard task, actually as there’s many a tree across the road.
Thought of something today. Thought happiness would come with a Louis Vuitton bag. Actually did. Thought I’d open the brown box and be smacked in the face with it. Do you know what? Is not the case. Happiness is not in handbags and to admit that to myself is like admitting you have an addicts or some other such monumental event. On monumental. Why isn’t there a word monumentous? Doesn’t that word sound more, well, monumental? Do you think I could start it? Maybe if I start using the word monumentous than people will think it actually is a word.
Today is so,not monumentous. It’s not even monumental.


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