Sarah, Sarah, rain is falling on your head. 2003-07-22 - 6:47 p.m.
For the love of sweet potatoes*, people. This is to whomever keeps googling my diary for "Sarah, storms are brewing in your eyes." Apparently, they want to know the recording artist(s) who penned these words. Or something close like them- the song is entitled "Sara". Such a loserly spelling. Anywho:
Starship.
Okay? Starship, which was the 1980s incarnation of Jefferson Airplane.
I hope this clears things up, so people can STOP GOOGLING MY DIARY ALREADY. Jeebus.
Anyway, I bought cute socks today. And sheets. I also went to werk. I'm tired. That is all. Tomorrow, I promise I will call the apartment manager lady again. Granted she'll probably laugh when she tells me there aren't any more left, but oh well. I am taking control of my own destiny just a bit, rather than let life carry me along life a paper sailboat traveling in that rivulet of water heading straight for the storm drain. Because that paper sailboat will only end up in one place: the sewer.
So yeah. It is obviously raining outside. That's all.