A Lateral Move With A Slope.

I think I've started the morning once before by writing about broken crockery & this is just another one of those mornings.

Some people might get sad about it, and God know if it's Limoges I would, I have & I've written about it. 

But if it's something shipped in bulk by a European bail-out country straight to a center aisle TJ Maxx discount bin, where my mother seems to endlessly supply her handbag with swag she later unloads on me whenever she comes to visit, then no, I tend to move on secure in the knowledge that said microwaveable safe (I don't own a microwave) crockery will soon be replaced, perhaps sevenfold, and possibly as early as Friday.

 I don't think I do it on purpose. 

The parents are coming, I'm panicking, but at least I made it to the barber, and the guy at my dispensary said he dug my priorities. Yes, and I tried not to stand there like someone who had just been accused of being hierarchically inclined. Some of the shit just brushes right off me.