Monday, April 08, 2013
It's not so much that I can't iron things. It's just that I lack the magic touch to make them remained ironic the next morning. Or to keep them from looking like they've been run over by a thresher by the middle of the afternoon. Right now, that shirt is pristine, the darn thing probably looks better than it did when I (or someone else, as I really can't recall when I might have obtained it) pulled it off the rack in the store. Even the creases, you know, the places where things are supposed to be creased? No way. They're as flat as Nebraska at the moment. Sadly, those last three words are the operative phrase, as by the time I wake up in 5 hours, Nebraska will have become Wisconsin, with sections that escaped the glaciers' kiss. and turned into roiling mass of wrinkles. By Noon, it's Colorado, with about 40 percent of the area retaining some semblance of pristinity and flatness. And by the end of the day, you'd be hard pressed to prove it felt felt the hot breath of the flatmaking thingamabobber.
and now my eyes are glazing so I'll attempt sleep. Over the 6 day stretch since i last blogged, there were a number of attempts to scribble something out, defeated either by sleep incoming, or indifference. And least this stuff snuck out of my finger before the brain overruled it.