Hello, world. Today is Shawshank‘s birthday, and it’s a gray morning. Maybe it will clear up. We don’t know.
Yesterday was exactly what I expected out of it, but more annoying as the day went on. I assumed a human form and chatted with another Tiktok flowmie in my stream. Once finished, I loaded up Tears of The Kingdom before Shawshank came home for lunch. I texted my mom, who got mail for me about a recall on the Hot Mess, and did I want her to send it up? Her birthday was a week ago, and her gift arrived yesterday. I had stuffed it with about 3 months worth of TinyTown‘s weekly newsletter, some Canadian candies, an antique ceramic tchotchke/trinket box shaped like a lobster emblazoned with SASKATCHEWAN! in script letters across its back.
I eventually loaded up an afternoon live stream. Pippin joined in very early into the broadcast, laying in the middle of my space and generally being the littlest attention whore. Unfortunately, I never really found my groove, and I wasn’t getting any interaction from viewers. I only stuck around for about half my normal stream.
Shawshank found me on the floor, laying out and getting ready to cut up a My Little Pony sheet. I had everything sewn up after dinner. That’s when disaster struck: I couldn’t find my bodkin to pull the elastic through its channels. I could totally use a safety pin, but it’s the fucking principle at this point. It was in my area, and now it’s not. Frustrated, I cleared and tidied my area and sat on the couch to edit TikTok shit. Shawshank offered to help look for it, but I declined. I know the more time I spend looking for it, the more annoyed and pissy I’m going to become.
It’s still missing. The pants remain unfinished.
