26 April 2020


the toilet was fucked up. i stood over it, said, not today, satan, and i swear to god it was fixed. 

does this mean that when i die from a cerebral hemorrhage having fallen and hit my head after catching my heel in my shag carpet that they'll saintify me? probably not, but a girl can dream. 

it seems only right that i be the patron saint of plumbing given my love of that 70s plumbing exhibit at the museum of science and industry. 

garebear called the other day with a new revelation: WE ARE LIVING THROUGH HISTORY. 

why it took him six weeks of quarantine and contemplation to arrive at this quite obvious fact, i remain unsure. 

i think he often forgets i am a historian. and i don't think me appealing to the devil to heal a toilet was a part of the great history through which we are living that he had in mind. 

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