you haven't met the new me yet {a wotevah in no parts} Warnings: a cocktail of them GREAT WALL OF TEXT comin through! __________________________________ So this historic piece of nonfiction starts off just like every other one: it's raining right now, tonight. And how cool it would've been if I'd been able to name my city like "It's raining in New York" but I'm afraid my city is entwined in me so much that you'd recognize me and the places I repeatedly write about, if I named it. So just like the interviews, I'm not naming names, but giving looks like "Pfft! Isn’t it too obvious?" because my piece isn't mine alone when I put it out, right? [I own it though.] and secondly, I, *jazz hands* dontwannabe followed as in-- people my age and my economic section are connected well in my city, that if you were to live here and befriend someone and then have an evil scheme to scrounge for my whereabouts, the chances are that they'd require only about 6 people to chain call like "What's she doing these days? Oh, she's joined so and so? Oh it starts 7 in the morning? Thanks M!" and I do swear on my sweet tooth (there's none though) that there's a beautiful shiny jet black obsidian knife disguised as a credit card and that it was a gift I wouldn't wanna spoil on anyone and that moving the court to prove that an attempted murder was self-defence... or more precisely, that an act of self-defence was not an attempt at murder, would be really an interruption in my life because courts are boring and torturous places (sorry Fiona Apple, I wasn't targeting your interests and I really really promise I adore what you do with music and admire what you're doing for people stuck with courts) but anyway, it was raining, and I, your very humble, mild mannered protagonist read! I read! I read 'Surely, you're joking Mr. Feynman' (for the third time ever) and that's where today's special variety of nonchalance is derived from.
![you haven't met the new me yet
{a wotevah in no parts}
Warnings: a cocktail of them
GREAT WALL OF TEXT comin through!
__________________________________
So this historic piece of nonfiction starts off just like every other one: it's raining right now, tonight. And how cool it would've been if I'd been able to name my city like "It's raining in New York" but I'm afraid my city is entwined in me so much that you'd recognize me and the places I repeatedly write about, if I named it. So just like the interviews, I'm not naming names, but giving looks like "Pfft! Isn’t it too obvious?" because my piece isn't mine alone when I put it out, right? [I own it though.] and secondly, I, *jazz hands* dontwannabe followed as in-- people my age and my economic section are connected well in my city, that if you were to live here and befriend someone and then have an evil scheme to scrounge for my whereabouts, the chances are that they'd require only about 6 people to chain call like "What's she doing these days? Oh, she's joined so and so? Oh it starts 7 in the morning? Thanks M!" and I do swear on my sweet tooth (there's none though) that there's a beautiful shiny jet black obsidian knife disguised as a credit card and that it was a gift I wouldn't wanna spoil on anyone and that moving the court to prove that an attempted murder was self-defence... or more precisely, that an act of self-defence was not an attempt at murder, would be really an interruption in my life because courts are boring and torturous places (sorry Fiona Apple, I wasn't targeting your interests and I really really promise I adore what you do with music and admire what you're doing for people stuck with courts) but anyway, it was raining, and I, your very humble, mild mannered protagonist read! I read! I read 'Surely, you're joking Mr. Feynman' (for the third time ever) and that's where today's special variety of nonchalance is derived from.](https://media.nojoto.com/content/media/27376786/2022/11/feed/aa84c2775ee7aee2ab579c63e9e42ee1/aa84c2775ee7aee2ab579c63e9e42ee1_default.jpg "you haven't met the new me yet
{a wotevah in no parts}
Warnings: a cocktail of them
GREAT WALL OF TEXT comin through!
__________________________________
So this historic piece of nonfiction starts off just like every other one: it's raining right now, tonight. And how cool it would've been if I'd been able to name my city like \"It's raining in New York\" but I'm afraid my city is entwined in me so much that you'd recognize me and the places I repeatedly write about, if I named it. So just like the interviews, I'm not naming names, but giving looks like \"Pfft! Isn’t it too obvious?\" because my piece isn't mine alone when I put it out, right? [I own it though.] and secondly, I, *jazz hands* dontwannabe followed as in-- people my age and my economic section are connected well in my city, that if you were to live here and befriend someone and then have an evil scheme to scrounge for my whereabouts, the chances are that they'd require only about 6 people to chain call like \"What's she doing these days? Oh, she's joined so and so? Oh it starts 7 in the morning? Thanks M!\" and I do swear on my sweet tooth (there's none though) that there's a beautiful shiny jet black obsidian knife disguised as a credit card and that it was a gift I wouldn't wanna spoil on anyone and that moving the court to prove that an attempted murder was self-defence... or more precisely, that an act of self-defence was not an attempt at murder, would be really an interruption in my life because courts are boring and torturous places (sorry Fiona Apple, I wasn't targeting your interests and I really really promise I adore what you do with music and admire what you're doing for people stuck with courts) but anyway, it was raining, and I, your very humble, mild mannered protagonist read! I read! I read 'Surely, you're joking Mr. Feynman' (for the third time ever) and that's where today's special variety of nonchalance is derived from.")
