Word Salad

I didn't actually grow up in America.

Wow, that could not be further from the truth.  That is not at all what I meant to type but somehow when my fingers skirted across my keyboard that is what came out instead of the sentence I was actually thinking: "We have a new student worker in our office these days."

Huh.

Odd.


It's at moments like these that I fantasize about having a séance to call upon Freud himself.

The psych major in me is itching to just run with my slip and see where it takes me.

Meh, forget it.  I'm a terrible runner.  I have a bad heart.  And as fascinating as a fantastical story about being raised up by tigers in the Himalayas would be, I'm inclined to say a public blog is not the proper couch on which to probe at my psyche.

Great, now I can't even remember where I was initially going.  Well, I'll say this at least.  I made chocolate chip cookies last night and they were the ultimate failure.  First off, I don't know whose pipe I was smoking when I thought almond extract in chocolate chip cookies could be good.  I tried it again, only using the teeniest tiniest splash of almond and it still overpowered.  Never again.  I'm done with modifications.  I think the roommates are too.  Second, it didn't help that while these failure cookies were baking there was a house quarrel nearly as heated as the oven.  All four batches burned.  Oh well.  Better luck with the cookies next time.  And better luck with keeping tabs on my mind and blog post topics.