Tonight I was thinking I might buy me a blanket. I've never bought myself a blanket. I've bought a lousy comforter, and gone in on a good one, but never a blanket. And I like blankets. I have several that are cast-off, hand-me-down, gifted or inherited, and one that was pilfered. "pilphered"? Wasn't me what swiped it, anyroad.
I was thinking I might buy me a blanket that I pick out for myself.
What else shall I think of buying me? And why? And so what?
I hate that mockingbird song. Always have. If you know the one I mean. It's supposed to be a lullaby, but even though it has a structural thing a child might tend to like, it sucks. I don't mind the grammar at all, but it's sing-songy in an annoying way, and the stuff mamma's gonna buy you & what goes wrong with it---that stuff's stupid. And the whole idea of it, that's the worst part. Not cuz it's capitalist, but cuz it's a lie.
I shall now say something cheerier so as not to end on that note.
"All misery and all happiness are of equal value." --Ajahn Sumedho
