wienerstew
I can't help but dwell on it sometimes. I tried to let it go, and I did, for a while. Honestly, I don't even remember what brought back these memories and the pain that comes back with it, but I find myself dwelling in these old thoughts that I'd finally dismissed. I dwell on the past far too much, in these old memories. Perhaps there's just too much to dwell on and too much dwelling I've done before to stop all together. I'll dwell until the day I die.
I've never had any bone fractures before. It surprises me, really - they seem really common. I've known tons of people who've fractured something - several in my own family, even! It's not really worth anything, just an odd little fact. I've never fractured or broken a bone before.
The pit of my stomach is wrenching. I'll admit it - I think I may know why. I've eaten bowl upon bowl of oyster stew, knowing that oysters have been making me a tid-bit ill these days, but I just couldn't resist, and now there's this miserable feeling in the pit of my stomach. That's a strange word - pits. It makes me think of the pit of your stomach, and, well, arm-pits.
Keen. It's a strange word, but I like it - I guess you could say that I'm keen on the word keen in general. It's an interesting term, and I'd like to start to use it more. I'm very, well, I already said this, but since I still have time, I'll say it again: I'm very keen on it. I mean, really - it's an interesting word. I like the way it looks and sounds.
Water pours through the fridge, day and night. We don't know how, we don't know why. It just leaks, the water pouring, ice or not. It pours into the drawers and fills it all up, it gets wrappers and bowls wet, coating cans in cold water and strange liquid. We need a new fridge.
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