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She could do so much.
She did so little.
She lived the Eliot smith lyrics all the time. Did it count that being self aware was part of it? She saw a comedian yesterday that admitted she's kind of boring in downtime life. External validation is all she lives for now.
The drive to find the perfect - or at least some that taste like home grown - tomatoes took her to the poor part of town. She loved that the man in his rascal scooter was riding on the sidewalk avoiding the poorly paved areas. Inside his bag were some fresh flowers. She concocted an entire life out of that.
What does one do with all the hope sort of floundering?
one grouses.
one writes boring nothings to stave it all off.
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