slowly filling time distilling and an oregon moment

I have noticed I've been picking up the colloquialisms of the grill. Like my boss I keep thinking I should be saying "Whatchoo doin?" But not in an overly quoted drunken commercial way. In a grammatical error way. "Whatchoo doin" is not a native thing to say for a Scandinavian. Néanmoins, Joachim du Bellay encouraged France to do like the romans and devour all that's best of a culture and make it your own.
Watchoo doin?

This year I stood up and said I WILL BE ME. And I stand up and say it over and over in between times of crawling into the box and curling up in quiet shrouds of hermatism. Being me sadly requires putting a stop to many a waterfight and preaching safety in the workplace.

I like crèpes. I LOVE them with lemon and sugar. Apparently it's the way the English do it. And who could resist. Ce n'est pas possible. Oh sweet drug I call thy name lemon.
So that was my plan for a warm end to a rainy day meal. Guess what. You can't cook crèpes in a cheep college apartment in a cheep teflon pan without cooking spray. Ce n'est pas possible. I had to drop that pancake mush like it was 1989. Plan A: strike.
Plan B: create a film. Black and White Reversal Super 8 extravaganza complete with a mime. What was that about the camera not working? Oh.
So I sat amid the varied impressions. The impressions are difficult because I have to ignore them to find the realists. Why is my friday night spent in art history divorce papers?

Then I thought, commence oh what sleep may have you
but sleep have me not
the tea is too stale for my immunable liver
I bumped up to milk for a sweet silver sliver
Doth not I tire?
Oh no I am wired.

oh no.
how lame.

"let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah let it be"

I watched a beautiful Mongolian film, The Cave of the Yellow Dog. And I learned a great lesson. Try to bite the palm of your hand. You can't do it. You can't have everything you want, even if it's close. You cannot have your palm and bite it too.