unnnnnnnnnhhhhhhh

I'm totally autistic. It's a fact. except for the part where I'm supposed to be a whiz at math. Maybe that just means I'm creepy, and not autistic at all- there's no genius to explain my need for repetition. need for repetition. need for repetition.

I'm ruined for making breakfasts. rooo-inned. They always come out looking like a prep cook did them- two dippy eggs, just right where there's no slime on them, two slices of toste sliced down the middle and arranged in triangles on the far side of the plate. And a beautiful, bountiful, belligerent cup of OJ, freshly squeezed to accompany on the pianoforte. It is a masterpiece of culinary delight.

I sit down and eat them to the sounds of the same song I just played 12 times in a row, dirty, dirty, you're such a dirty girl. And also the sounds I hear are the smack, smack, smack of birds trying to fly in the window on the front of our house. They do it every day. They do it all day. Sometimes there will be a real loud one, and we'll look out the window and see a bird laying on the ground, dazed. There will be a wet spot on the window. If I were a bird, I would not be so foolish. I would eat a little and then go away.