Tumbling Downward

i'll milk it for all its worth (something about that sentiment seems so American to me). "milk it" as in polishing off a white russian (should that be capitalized?). vodka, kahlua, cream. or rather, half and half but as smooth and almost as rich as cream. a good drink but i'm left dry and itchy in the New Orleans spring. the pollen hits and it hits hard. allergies like sickness.

Built to Spill plays from the stereo and cooked rice sits on top of the stove. chopped vegetables and tofu also sit but, unlike the rice, wait to be cooked. its nearing 7PM and i think whom in the world could care about these words - and the likelihood that these words never will be read also fills me with a fear. not fear. more like a dulled dreadful panic. that may not make sense but when one realizes that the majority of what they do is either totally unimportant or WAY too important to others ... it all just seems out of whack. eh, maybe it is and maybe it isn't, certainly i do not know. but the vegetables do wait to be cooked. they have been chopped and now have no other purpose but to be sustenance to humans. either that or sustenance to little bugs as they rot uncooked. another drink will be made by me and i will watch actors on television.

i'm sure a lot of other people will be watching actors on television tonight. perhaps, they are watching right now. probably.