Porous/Poor Us

The walls here in the shoe box seem pretty thin at times. Times like this morning (afternoon) when I was jiggied out of a comfortable slumber to Outkast singing "Hey Ya". "Hey Ya" is the song d'annee for my neighbours, it seems. When I first heard the little beeps that give the song's melody its backbone coming through the wall, I thought 'Oh isn't that nice. Mmhmm. Very fun, very lively.' But their love for the tune is definately not waning. In fact, it's quite possible that it's waxing! I think that Outkast may have ripped open some space-time continuum over in apartment 302 (or is it 304?). I hope not everything is going in reverse over there. If it starts to smell of talcum powder and diapers in a month, I'm calling the super. A girl should have no trouble sleeping past noon in her own home. Harumph.

So, now that I/we am/are up (I'm so quick with the conjugation! look at me slip between the first person singular and the royal/first person plural like it was butta. I deserve an award. Give me an award, dammit! Uhh....) I'm going to start into today's plan: sushi making. First dress. Then shop. Prepare rice, do some choppin' an' rollin'. Injest. Mmm...