I want to write but all I can seem to write in my head is "boobs boobs boobs". Not terribly profound.
I have been drinking Chardonnay and eating cheese. I slept almost all of today. I'm having a really great hair day in a swanky studio apartment. I finally moved off the sofa onto the air mattress behind the cabinets. Full set up it is only. And now I have windows that span half the wall next to my bed, morning light waking me up makes for a very contented Riddhi.

Listening to trip hop and thinking "oh shite, oh shite". Life, plij do not go to the dogs, I beg you. Being homeless and poor will not suit me. I need books and things, and I eat far too much to be happy with grits and gruel.