Stream of Consciousness

I'm sitting in my mum's room. There's one part of my mum's room that's comprised of 6 floor-to-ceiling windows, so we're drinking up the sun like pho to synthesis. They don't make houses like this anymore - ours was designed in the 80s and previously owned by a major drug dealer. I'm sure i could find kilos and bodies in the yard and in the well if i really wanted to. Yes, we have a well and yes, it does look like The Ring. But our family house is a whole nuther post. It's an amazing story filled with druglords and violence and helicopters and the feds.

My sister's curled up in one of my mum's beds with Princess Mimeisters. It's Sunday and it's beautiful. How come it always seems like Sundays are blazingly gorgeous? In a totally unrelated note: I had a piece of big red today. U know what big red reminds me of? Making Out. I used to make out with this guy that always tasted like cinnamon. I dont think he was the best kisser but he always tasted so good. Isnt it strange how memories eventually fade, but there's always a lingering idea of someone/something that stays stores away in the back of your brain that gets reborn from just a specific taste? I love collecting things to make memories. It's usually an article of clothing or a sovuvenir I "borrowed". HAHA. I have a box in my room of items that remind me of stories, people, things that I don't ever want to forget. Did you know that a goldfish has the memory span of 3 seconds? That's me. That was totally unrelated, also.

Anyway, today we're going to my gramma's house for dinner. For some reason, everything is always extra good over there. Galbi is not just ordinary galbi at my grammas house. *rubs belly in ciruclar motion* I can't wait.