A smile slowly creeps on my face when I rest the framework for my proposal upon the empty bottle of wine that you purchased simply because of the ancestral relation to Dante.
Oral fixations cannot be quenched with tea, coffee, pen nibbling, straw chewing, joint smoking, or lolly pops. What I really want is cigarette, or rather, something flammable that I can rest against my lips in my pondering state. A pipe may do the trick.
Procrastinatory endeavors have left me with a clean front entranceway, and (re)discovering the enchanted world of birthday gifts. The whoopee cushion and fingerpaint funsoap must penetrate my day.
High school metaphors continue to invade my life, and no, I really don