"I have to admit," I’m not feeling my best. Not that I’m doing so bad. Not that I really have anything to complain about. Not that I would actually verbally complain if I did have something to complain about. No. Because I’m Thinking Positive/Saying Positive. I’m sitting back on my haunches, waiting for people to poke in their heads. Although it’s been thirteen days since anyone poked in their head and Janet’s speaking English to me more and more, which is partly why I feel so, you know, crummy. “Jeez,” she says first thing this morning. “I’m so tired of roast goat I could scream.”
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What am I supposed to say to that? It puts me in a bad spot. She thinks I’m a goody-goody and that her speaking English makes me uncomfortable. And she’s right. It does. Because we’ve got it good. Every morning, a new goat, just killed, sits in our Big Slot. In our Little Slot, a book of matches. That’s better than some. Some are required to catch wild hares in snares. Some are required to wear pioneer garb while cutting the heads off chickens. But not us. I just have to haul the dead goat out of the Big Slot and skin it with a sharp flint. Janet just has to make the fire. So things are pretty good. Not as good as in the old days, but then again, not so bad.
[attr="class","mvula-lyrics"]SING TO THE MOON AND THE STARS WILL SHINE
[attr="class","mvula-text"]"I have to admit," I’m not feeling my best. Not that I’m doing so bad. Not that I really have anything to complain about. Not that I would actually verbally complain if I did have something to complain about. No. Because I’m Thinking Positive/Saying Positive. I’m sitting back on my haunches, waiting for people to poke in their heads. Although it’s been thirteen days since anyone poked in their head and Janet’s speaking English to me more and more, which is partly why I feel so, you know, crummy. “Jeez,” she says first thing this morning. “I’m so tired of roast goat I could scream.”
What am I supposed to say to that? It puts me in a bad spot. She thinks I’m a goody-goody and that her speaking English makes me uncomfortable. And she’s right. It does. Because we’ve got it good. Every morning, a new goat, just killed, sits in our Big Slot. In our Little Slot, a book of matches. That’s better than some. Some are required to catch wild hares in snares. Some are required to wear pioneer garb while cutting the heads off chickens. But not us. I just have to haul the dead goat out of the Big Slot and skin it with a sharp flint. Janet just has to make the fire. So things are pretty good. Not as good as in the old days, but then again, not so bad.
[googlefont=Comfortaa|Josefin+Slab|Special+Elite|Amatica SC][div align="center"][div][attr="class","mvulainsp"][div][attr="class","mvula-seadark"][div][attr="class","mvula-moon"][div][attr="class","mvula-singto"]☾ [img style="float:center;width:40px;border-radius:100px;margin-bottom:-14px;border:1px solid;padding:5px;" src="http://i.imgbox.com/NEMbf3P9.png"] ☽ [/div][div][attr="class","mvula-lyrics"]SING TO THE MOON AND THE STARS WILL SHINE[/div][div][attr="class","mvula-text"][b]"I have to admit,"[/b] I’m not feeling my best. Not that I’m doing so bad. Not that I really have anything to complain about. Not that I would actually verbally complain if I did have something to complain about. No. Because I’m Thinking Positive/Saying Positive. I’m sitting back on my haunches, waiting for people to poke in their heads. Although it’s been thirteen days since anyone poked in their head and Janet’s speaking English to me more and more, which is partly why I feel so, you know, crummy. “Jeez,” she says first thing this morning. “I’m so tired of roast goat I could scream.”
What am I supposed to say to that? It puts me in a bad spot. She thinks I’m a goody-goody and that her speaking English makes me uncomfortable. And she’s right. It does. Because we’ve got it good. Every morning, a new goat, just killed, sits in our Big Slot. In our Little Slot, a book of matches. That’s better than some. Some are required to catch wild hares in snares. Some are required to wear pioneer garb while cutting the heads off chickens. But not us. I just have to haul the dead goat out of the Big Slot and skin it with a sharp flint. Janet just has to make the fire. So things are pretty good. Not as good as in the old days, but then again, not so bad. [/div][/div][/div][/div][div align="center"][div][attr="class","sacred_credit1"][a href="http://pixel-perfect.boards.net/user/25"]♰[/a][/div][/div][/div]
Last Edit: Jul 21, 2019 22:05:43 GMT by Remus Lupin
[googlefont=Comfortaa|Josefin+Slab|Special+Elite|Amatica SC] [attr="class","mvulainsp"] [attr="class","mvula-seadark"] [attr="class","mvula-moon"] [attr="class","mvula-singto"]☾ ☽ [attr="class","mvula-lyrics"]SING TO THE MOON AND THE STARS WILL SHINE [attr="class","mvula-text"]Testing. Test.
What am I supposed to say to that? It puts me in a bad spot. She thinks I’m a goody-goody and that her speaking English makes me uncomfortable. And she’s right. It does. Because we’ve got it good. Every morning, a new goat, just killed, sits in our Big Slot. In our Little Slot, a book of matches. That’s better than some. Some are required to catch wild hares in snares. Some are required to wear pioneer garb while cutting the heads off chickens. But not us. I just have to haul the dead goat out of the Big Slot and skin it with a sharp flint. Janet just has to make the fire. So things are pretty good. Not as good as in the old days, but then again, not so bad. [attr="class","sacred_credit1"]♰
[attr="class","mvula-lyrics"]SING TO THE MOON AND THE STARS WILL SHINE
[attr="class","mvula-text"]"I have to admit," I’m not feeling my best. Not that I’m doing so bad. Not that I really have anything to complain about. Not that I would actually verbally complain if I did have something to complain about. No. Because I’m Thinking Positive/Saying Positive. I’m sitting back on my haunches, waiting for people to poke in their heads. Although it’s been thirteen days since anyone poked in their head and Janet’s speaking English to me more and more, which is partly why I feel so, you know, crummy. “Jeez,” she says first thing this morning. “I’m so tired of roast goat I could scream.”
What am I supposed to say to that? It puts me in a bad spot. She thinks I’m a goody-goody and that her speaking English makes me uncomfortable. And she’s right. It does. Because we’ve got it good. Every morning, a new goat, just killed, sits in our Big Slot. In our Little Slot, a book of matches. That’s better than some. Some are required to catch wild hares in snares. Some are required to wear pioneer garb while cutting the heads off chickens. But not us. I just have to haul the dead goat out of the Big Slot and skin it with a sharp flint. Janet just has to make the fire. So things are pretty good. Not as good as in the old days, but then again, not so bad.
☽ 