my last title

I woke up today knowing that I would wake up and crawl back in a comfy bed with a big comfy wasp of a boy because I am infected, and it lets me nap. But days like these make me circle the block too many times out of confusion, choose the purse I like but don't love, and bat my sleepy eyelashes over a shrugged cup of coffee and a poorly printed package of information of neoliberalism. In a curled palm kind of way, I have a kitten on my lap and too many plans for later to warrant my carelessness, but oh well. The waitress at the cute organic nook around the corner became unfriendly, and I wondered if I smiled too much. Why do I sometimes have to second guess smiling too much? It makes up for when I am on the street and trying to smile too little. I guess I shouldn't smile and be polite at everyone I see and expect them to dig it, but when I am wearing gingham with cute little russian dolls at the bottom that is what I want to be.
Today I especially miss waffles and whipped butter. The world tells me, "too bad." I wish I had darker skin and could pronounce my words properly. I learned today to stop saying that I only speak a little Castellano. I speak more than a little, and I can hold down a simple transaction over the bag that I bought because I couldn't reconcile purchasing the one of higher quality that was larger and oppulent. Also I hope my friend can take Pocho because he is already a tough sell given his body is at the awkward stage between kitten and cat. I have been trying to smoosh an extra pesky flea that keeps taking refuge below his left eye, and I was so close this morning that I thought he was dead. I was wrong. As usual. I simply can't have any more cheesy bread, and I need a bag that I can carry my kilomba around in when I leave the apartment for hours on end. No other bag will do, and I know this. Oh, the mundane silliness of it all! I would prefer to be reading the tao of pooh to this neoliberalism stuff, but Alex is smoking a cigarette in the window, and I can't focus at all, and I am always surrounded by a posse of Alex's or could-be Alex's or should-be Alex's. I am a run-on, but academic run-on's are the worst.