I have nothing interesting to write about except New York, and Kim will be doing that, so I will be boring and write about my key ring.
Late last year, my key ring had nine keys: Two keys from the old house (house and sliding glass door), two keys from the new house (old locks and new locks), one key for the Honda, two keys for the Camaro, one key for the lock on our storage unit, and one key for the church. The church has been rekeyed (and I -- along with many others -- haven't been given a new key). The storage unit has been closed. The old house keys were given to the new owners. The keys for the old locks in the new house no longer work with anything. And just this week, we've given away the Camaro to charity.
What I am saying is I only have two keys on my keychain. Which feels like I'm wearing nothing at all. Nothing at all. Nothing at all. ("Stupid sexy Flanders.")
i sincerely do not know what you are doing here. are you lost? were you
looking for your delicate calico cat, and did you follow her up two flights of stairs
to this room? she is not here. she was here, yes. we gave her a warm bowl of milk, we talked with her about campaign finance reform for a time, and then she bid us good day. i believe she was
going to the post office two blocks down, but i don't quite recall.
for surely you did
not find your way from prinsiana, the least traveled site on
the internet. if you did, though, perhaps you are looking for humor. perhaps you are looking for profundity. perhaps you are looking for answers.
i'm sorry, but you shall go naught-for-three.
