Maybe I have. Maybe I haven't.
Actually, I've been trying to decide what poems I should read and if I should wear slacks or something else. Who even uses the word 'slacks' anyway? Trousers is even worse.
The reading in Muncie will be great, I'm promising this to myself. I'll have chapbooks available for purchase. I feel like I need to be selling myself like this. Maybe somebody will get desperate and buy one. Or fifteen. They might need to clean up pet waste.
Lately when I bite my nails, I think about what biting my nails means. I don't do it when I'm nervous, which is supposedly when people do it. Maybe biting your nails doesn't mean anything, and the person who hypothesized that it's something deeper is just full of shit.
I think two of my cousins are visiting from Chicago this weekend, and I have Saturday, Sunday and Monday off, which means three things: drugs, beer and video games.
Score.
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2 comments:
don't wear slacks.
Dude I'm just going to wear disgusting briefs with poop stains.
That's it. And maybe one of my baseball hats, too. I'd feel really naked it I didn't have one on.
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