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Meme, from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wordweaverlynn:
1. Go into your LJ's archives.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My twenty-third entry only has four sentences. However, in keeping with the vaguely Discordian nature of this meme, that fourth sentence is:
Gbuh?
Dad's surgery went just fine; he's now intermittently propelling himself around the house with crutches going "Whee!" because crutches, stocking feet, and hardwood floors are conducive to whee. (He agrees with the principle that those of us who are easily amused have more fun.) (It is general consensus that this is Exactly What Dad Would Do, which just goes to show we're hobgoblins around here.) (I am my father's daughter.)
I did not sleep well; this is getting to be unfortunately habitual. I took a nap after Dad got home. Then I came downstairs and we talked the techniques of usage of water pipes (in the 'really big bong' sense, not the plumbing sense), Discordian theology, Star Trek, and where do pagans come from anyway.
There are four bicycles in the garage; all of them are completely flat of tyre; the only extant and locatable bicycle pump is broken. I am not blessed. Perhaps when James shows up tomorrow we can go buy a bicycle pump. I may walk to the grocery and back before then, though, for the remainder of what is needful for makage of Soup.
I am wicked stuck on work. I wrote a whole heap of stuff yesterday, but it was all the next that I knew, and now I'm a hero without a clue.
(When I get home I really need to rip my Tom Petty CD, don't I?)
wordweaverlynn:1. Go into your LJ's archives.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My twenty-third entry only has four sentences. However, in keeping with the vaguely Discordian nature of this meme, that fourth sentence is:
Gbuh?
Dad's surgery went just fine; he's now intermittently propelling himself around the house with crutches going "Whee!" because crutches, stocking feet, and hardwood floors are conducive to whee. (He agrees with the principle that those of us who are easily amused have more fun.) (It is general consensus that this is Exactly What Dad Would Do, which just goes to show we're hobgoblins around here.) (I am my father's daughter.)
I did not sleep well; this is getting to be unfortunately habitual. I took a nap after Dad got home. Then I came downstairs and we talked the techniques of usage of water pipes (in the 'really big bong' sense, not the plumbing sense), Discordian theology, Star Trek, and where do pagans come from anyway.
There are four bicycles in the garage; all of them are completely flat of tyre; the only extant and locatable bicycle pump is broken. I am not blessed. Perhaps when James shows up tomorrow we can go buy a bicycle pump. I may walk to the grocery and back before then, though, for the remainder of what is needful for makage of Soup.
I am wicked stuck on work. I wrote a whole heap of stuff yesterday, but it was all the next that I knew, and now I'm a hero without a clue.
(When I get home I really need to rip my Tom Petty CD, don't I?)