I dream of commercials

I should stop drinking clean sencha on a sunken stomach. It makes me jittery, green jello-like. My eyes feel like white traffic lights. Has the lack of appetite returned or do I just need to get myself a car, but not just any vehicle for worship of the modern automobile--that cute, slightly burly around the shoulders Tacoma truck I've been throwing red beans at in Winter White (tm) or Lunar Silver (tm). Colour designers and name-givers, rock on.

What I WILL willfully do to cement my fate as a consumer this weekend is seek out an elegant tea-set with at least four cups so I can have people over. And not make the third guest suffer the usage of an unintentionally uninteresting vessel while the other lucky two get to sip their brews from sand- and stone-coloured Japanese owls. That's egalitarianism, in practicum.

Now I'm off to eat something so I can bounce around in wushu class. And think about that prayer and curse I have to write this weekend for workshop. O so many easy apostrophes shoot into mind!