Weeken' Update, Slam-Poetry Style, bitch.
No, sorry, I can't do it. I thought maybe I could, but alas, 'tis not to be. If you could hear me do it, or at least hear it the way it's in my head, it would be cool, but I can't write it on the fly, and I never prepare what to write, or put any forethought into it whatsoever. That's why it's so mind crushingly mundane.
Maybe I can legitimize my laziness by calling it my "style". My "style" is to never think about what I'm going to write before I write it. Never write drafts, never write anything, really, since there are practically no kinds of writing that lend themselves to such completely ridiculous irresponsibility. Blogging is perfect, I can write about discovering that the little creases on the sides of my nose, if you really get in there, smell like my bellybutton.
Oh, also worked, played some volleyball, and went to West Virginia for a music festival with Dave and Cass (and Liz, natch). Photos.
