Fine lines.
It seems like every time I look in the mirror, there are even more fine lines on my face than before. They are now spreading beyond the boundaries of my eyelids, and heading out to god knows where. Mexico maybe?
Argh. How am I ever going to get laid again with these fuckers clogging up my grill?
On an evidently unrelated note, I started making my first quilt yesterday. I’ve been tossing the quilting idea around in my head for a few months now, and last night I finally decided to just fucking giver. And giver I did. It’s a complicated pattern for a beginner, and of course I screwed it up, but that’s okay because it’s still a kickass quilt. Or it’s going to be kickass, once I finish it.
They’re time consuming as hell. Which I kind of like.
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