hello_pussy01

I am rags hanging from fishing twine. I am soaked in amonia and smell like a breath mint. My fingertips are pruned and wrinkled up like grey white skin of a decrepid older gentleman. I have been washing my kitchen floor, down on all fours, crawling around in the potent pinesol suds. I feel weak from inhaling the fumes various household cleaners. I am reminded now, I have a pair of leather pants and a rabbit fur jacket that need to make it to the dry cleaners tommorow morning, If I want to done such extravegant attire to sip marinis in tommorow night. For now thought, I am dressed in duds. Boxer shorts that, I believe, once belonged to a long fogotten ex lover. red with white polka dots. There is a real sweet nieve innocence in polkadots. A white ribbed tank top two sizes to small stretched to its limits across my humble chest. I am scrubbing with a washcloth, and becoming increasingly frustrated by the gross sloshing of dirty soapy water onto my bare skin. I need to bathe.

I write long run on scentences that are insignificant and boring. I wonder if anyone will read this. I know somebody will, and based on what they read, will make a snap judgement. Hopefully one that will make me out to be this totally hard working girl who isnt afraid to put in a little elbow grease to make my tile floors as white as the new enamel incrusted all over jewels once snaggled smile. Hopefully my guests will admire the sparkling formica.

hopefully nobody will read this.