spicy-brown mustard as babyfood

I was caught in rain last night and bugged out of a slumber party.

I woke up today with an exploding mind and too much latent suds.

Light-headed treks up and down two flights of stairs rendered thoughts of Tuesday runoffs impossible.

Broad strokes of paint on my walls also proved to be difficult.

All in all, today was not a productive day. There's still an old mattress leaning up against the wall to my right. Clean folded laundry remains in my hamper. As papers fly everywhere, I feel that clutter is starting to fly towards me at every angle due to some magnetic attraction unbeknown to me, and at a time when I'm trying to limit all my material possessions. I fall prey to self-induced anxiety and pace around the apartment only to find that I haven't done a thing all day. Soon, I realize that the rain has cleared and pigeons have once again started defecating on my windowsills, invoking the urge to hunt.

The latest travel/food show on TV explains how pigeon tastes sweet and isn't at all gamy. I always imagined a greasy texture much like that of guinea pig. I'll settle for randomly donated pieces of pheasant from the Italian diamond polisher my father sometimes sees at the local bar.