perhaps i should have named oatmeal, eliot-

some of the brilliance might have rubbed off then.

two feathers have appeared on the former's otherwise bald american eagle's head; hope of handsomeness. in the meantime he remains single-minded and biasedly curious. sometimes he wrings my heart in his patient hopeless waiting, at others he drives me to name-calling and other insults, like today when i had to clean up after his poop inbetween reading eliot. mostly i am exasperated at my inconsistency.

does anyone else like eliot/the mill on the floss? credit goes to whoever called it a tragedy of the everyday; i can't agree more. and all that tension, be still my heart.

(haha oatmeal is so sleepy he's closing his eyes on standing on my laptop, but the silly bird refuses to go to his box.)

and-

hi 24, you have had me confounded for most of this year. but let's see what we can do with you.