Monday, February 18, 2008


On a particularly taxing evening a few weeks ago, I thought to myself: "I feel like toast." And I didn't mean that I felt like eating a piece of toast. I meant that I felt as if I was a piece of toast. I don't know what it was about a dried out piece of bread that I was identifying with, but it seemed to be the only accurate description of my mood at the time.

I know of a particular gentleman who once felt very tweed. Someday I shall make him mine.

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