Throw that shit away, girl.

I woke up this morning with two distinct scratches on my left arm that are thin enough to look like they came from my cat, and my pinky finger nail on my right hand is a tad uneven, which makes it a bit sharper than usual. So I'm assuming that's the reason, although the idea of my cat laying atop my sleeping body strategically deciding where to scratch me is pretty damn funny, and something I've considered at more than one time. It doesn't happen too often but every now and then I'll wake up with some "unexplainable" scratches. From myself. Probably. Certainly.         Weird.
I used to have a hard time drinking warm coffee. I used to have a hard time with the taste of coffee in general, but now I can't go a day without. So much so that Mum will leave drink me post-its on the coffee maker or suggest I make myself a pot when I wake up. In between the last sentence and this one I just refreshed the cup I'm currently drinking. Sometimes I'll find cups around the house with lukewarm coffee in them, with a little wisp of creamer that has settled on the surface of the drink and I'll think, "How could Mom possibly let this happen?" I've even asked her. She says something along the lines of, "Well I had already had a cup. This was after I had warmed it up." I don't get it. I've got to finish my coffee before I do anything. Anything physical at least. 


I've just spotted my Dreamcast sitting over there in front of the TV. It seems to be calling my name. I can't start cleaning my room until Darla is awake and out of bed / the room [out of courtesy of course]. But what to play.. What. To. Play.


Drag Queen Coco Peru just gave a monologue to a young man in a bathroom about a blowjob in this not very good movie from 1999 that's playing on LoGo, which says it's time to move on with my entertainment for the day.