I saved up some SSD because I just did some *cough* months in Faith Regional BHU and PPU (1 shared shower), so I didn’t have to buy groceries… It’s illegal for me to save my SSD, because of Social Security Bum’s Law (must be in poverty; disabled people deserve to be bums until you understand philosophically the reason we work and the meaning of life that!), so I bought some legit graphic design software straight from Adobe.com _ I’ve been meaning to do this ever since 3 years of college pimped me out to Adobe and now I have a crutch to only use Adobe, and nothing a penny cheaper…
No more designing graphics on torrents Photoshop! Torrents gun down planes (turrets?) I mean torrents sink ships (dictionary…). It’s a metaphor about all the viruses, me thinks. Don’t judge! For the longest time, group homes made me live on $50 a month. I however, am neither promoting nor admitting to piracy. These two pieces of plastic could have bought me a used car.
Coherency warning ^. I’m on a heavy antipsychotic shot. Invega Trinza…
The meaning of life that… (continued) My mom flashing her cesarean scar at me and screaming: “YOU SEE WHAT YOU DID TO ME!?” and “YOU MAKE YOUR OWN LIFE!” (true story)
The Huskers played Idaho state. It was a blowout. I got sunburned; took no sunblock.
I went with my brothers and my dad. My dad’s broken foot is in a braced boot (an angry cow took him down a while ago), so he had to hobble all the way up and down the stadium in a boot. I used to live in Lincoln. I don’t miss it.
So here is the thing I learned about Memorial Stadium. My butt is about 24-30 inches wide. The numbered seats are only 14 inches. I never knew you could get so claustrophobic in such a huge place.
I’ve gone to high school games in the stadium for the mentally ill adult daycare field trips, and it seemed I had a lot more room at those.
That ^ is me in a corn hat. My brother made these hats without the official university seal of approval. We could get sued.
Where they park the rides for the entire stadium is beyond me. It’s like they all walk to the game.
These things are what I grew up mowing hay with. In order to maintenance these, my dad and my uncle has to get antique parts.
I worked just to buy my own school clothes and then completely destroy said clothes in the summer, from all the dirty deeds greasing zerks and changing the snapped wooden pitmans or whatever. I’ve been stung by swarms of bees, eaten alive by mosquitoes the size of nickels, and I’ve murdered hundreds of innocent furry little bystanders. I had to get stitches on my palm when I almost lost a pinky finger changing a broken sickle blade.
It looks tough, but I have a hard time driving anything else really.
This isn’t my dog. Rainbow Center has got me a volunteer job walking the strays at the animal shelter. This one, Marla is my favorite. She attacks the leash and she’s also smart enough to slip out of the chain (I don’t like the chains, but it’s shelter policy) and she about broke loose and took off, except that I had to tackle her to keep her from getting away. So much personality in this dog. I miss my country dog Z. I used to let him go wherever he wants in a walk, no leash. I hope Marla can be a country dog. City dogs are institutionalized out of their soul.