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psychotropic mynah song

So just sitting at my quietly at my desk, when I'm doing the regular stuff (I write a session plan, but my mind skitters away from the annual report, whispering scratchily, you've done nothing, you've done nothing but complain, and even if you've done something, you haven't done enough) and I open Dreamweaver but I already know coherent sentence today isn't readily coming but luckily I'm saved by some important expensive lady who wants me to work with her I don't want that (and anyway she's working with 5-13 year olds and I don't work with under 13 year-olds over the net though I forget why) I want to walk in the meadow golden inside but instead I'm chorehopping round town with eyes looking inward at grey curtains drawn (when I think that I can see them, across my broad forehead like a primitive special effect) and the amount I'm spending on cameras is making me guilty (gleeful?) so I think for a bit about a white wall with a storm of pictures too many favourites to show if get a carpet I want it to be the colour of copper beeches in may but might as well face it I could save money by not spending on the cameras but not enough for the wall and not enough for the carpets (a Barbie balloon stutters on a cherrypicker, I action-sample it) and in the afternoon I look at my screen and then instead go sit at his and work on the videos (hers is still waiting for me to remember the hygienic wipes) and my scalp crawls and I hate blur shine crop cut clip listen unexpectedly quit without the need for words.

Goldfinches.