I'm eating a chocolate chip cookie that tastes vaiguely of my memory of cheese. I am listening to Tori Amos and I spent most of the afternoon alseep on the couch. It feels like winter, because nothing says winter like Tori Amos, cookies and sleeping at weird times.

Today we saw Pelicans, and we looked at upright freezers, and I read Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris sitting inbetween the stacked washer and drier set and the wirl-pool firge.

My purse is full of junk, and my grandmother looks very tired.