My life, overall, would be much easier if I were a better liar. But I suck at it. I think it's because when I was about kindergarten age, my mother told me that if I told a lie, there would be a black stripe on my tongue, and I believed her. So since I thought she could tell if I ever lied to her, I passed through the critical lie-development stage without mastering the skills.
Thus, I've been forced to turn my urge to fabrication and embellishment to fiction.
It's odd to me that Veruca Salt could have produced two songs I like as much as I like "Forsythia" and "Seether," and yet I find every other song of their unlistenable. tanaise says its the law of averages.
I'm still not used to it being lunch time by 9:00 AM. I think I'm getting up too early. Also, my hands hurt from v. much typing at work last two days. Pass the tiger balm, please.
And I'm going to try to write this ritual now. Cover me. I'm going in.