I was down in dixieland, playing a dixie fiddle. Right down the middle.
Someone posted pictures on facebook today of their first venture into the corn country. I think it was rural Illinois, maybe Indiana. But, it was that area of the country that feels as foreign as Afghanistan when you spend several yeras in a row in
New York.
I'm such a techie. That doesn't really explain it.
I just walked away from this writing for 15 minutes because I'm trying to figure out how to disable a certain beeping noise coming from my computer. I ended up browsing google, looking up the model fo this thinkpad, and playing with various settings in the control panel. I'm neurotic about having an ideal working environment.
I procrastinate by attempting to optimize my working area.
I should be writing. Holy shit that beeping is annoying.
So, I'm in that early phase of writing. The one where.
He never understood how people actually grew plants. Every time he brought anything home, he invariably kill it. As he rummaged through Fred's one bedroom apartment, he couldn't believe how many plants he had throuhgout the place. There were two green things on each side of his bed, there was a small hibiscus tree in the kitchen and flowers on the table. Another spider plant hung from a hook next to the television.
Everything was calm, a patience flooded the room. The mildly exorbinant crown molding, the minimal decorations, the organization: it all made no sense to Ryan. He had no idea where Fred stored his money. He needs to steal it.
I'm actually writing more in here than I have anywhere else. Maybe the rest of it is ijust too complicated. This provides me with a full screen of nothing but text. No font options. No worrying about the inanity of running a computer efficiently. But here we are! I fini
Someone posted pictures on facebook today of their first venture into the corn country. I think it was rural Illinois, maybe Indiana. But, it was that area of the country that feels as foreign as Afghanistan when you spend several yeras in a row in
New York.
I'm such a techie. That doesn't really explain it.
I just walked away from this writing for 15 minutes because I'm trying to figure out how to disable a certain beeping noise coming from my computer. I ended up browsing google, looking up the model fo this thinkpad, and playing with various settings in the control panel. I'm neurotic about having an ideal working environment.
I procrastinate by attempting to optimize my working area.
I should be writing. Holy shit that beeping is annoying.
So, I'm in that early phase of writing. The one where.
He never understood how people actually grew plants. Every time he brought anything home, he invariably kill it. As he rummaged through Fred's one bedroom apartment, he couldn't believe how many plants he had throuhgout the place. There were two green things on each side of his bed, there was a small hibiscus tree in the kitchen and flowers on the table. Another spider plant hung from a hook next to the television.
Everything was calm, a patience flooded the room. The mildly exorbinant crown molding, the minimal decorations, the organization: it all made no sense to Ryan. He had no idea where Fred stored his money. He needs to steal it.
I'm actually writing more in here than I have anywhere else. Maybe the rest of it is ijust too complicated. This provides me with a full screen of nothing but text. No font options. No worrying about the inanity of running a computer efficiently. But here we are! I fini
