Thursday, January 21

Curse your little heart.

This morning as I was slicing away at my soon-to-be-enjoyed grapefruit, (I love grapefruits, one of my fondest memories of my Grand-pa Dean was sleeping over at his and my grandma’s house and eating grapefruits and blueberry waffles. I always sat on his left.) I was listening to Devotchka.

Often when I am doing... anything, and listening to music I think about what kind of beginning to a movie this would make.
The color of the grapefruit, the music, my chubby mitts, and names like Adrien Brody gliding through the screen as I did my slicing thing.
Then my mind takes it a step further, what would this alleged movie be about?
Would my apartment film well?
What would I outfit my stars in?
Its not that I would ever write or direct a movie, but these thoughts happen really often.


  1. I do this all the time. Except I practice dialogue with myself. Yes that is right, I talk to myself.

  2. Oh whew. I was pretty sure you were going to end up slicing your hand, because your concentration was elsewhere.


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