My Thirty-ninth Post

I feel like blogging. There's nothing to stop me. And I have nothing better to do. That last sentence was a lie. Estoy una mentirosa. I went to DI yesterday. It was not a fruitful trip. I am sad. We lost the bookshelf in our living room last week, and the whole room looks bare without it. I wish we had a shelf. But there's nothing I can do. Now there are a bunch of books piled up in the corner. They look sad and disused. I am an extremely talented liar when I want to be. I don't often want to be. I shaved my legs this morning. Happiness ensues.