slaughterhouse: red converse (misc: red converse)
[personal profile] slaughterhouse
i'm sitting on a the green beanbag chair in my living room. in a little less than 24 hours, i hope to be sitting on a couch instead. my roommate is doing dishes in the kitchen, and there's a huge pan of fruit crisp in the oven. she talked out neighbour next door into going the grocery to buy vanilla ice cream, and then we will all sit around and eat it.

bill is staring at me. i'm reading stephen king's book, on writing, or have it sitting open in my lap, anyway.

life is peaceful and content. i should be in bed, but i'm not. tomorrow i'll take some books back to the library, and maybe pick up some new one. three of the graphic novels and one YA novel i have on hold have come in.

i just realized i haven't taken my meds today. i'm going to do that, i think, and then curl up in my chair with a blanket and finish the rest of my homework tomorrow.


slaughterhouse: misc: vampires & zombies & racoons (Default)


It is so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.
And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like, "Poo-tee-weet?"
- Kurt Vonnegut

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