Off my lawn, ya whippersnappers!

Dear Twitter:

Please fuck off and die.  You have succeeded in turning my friends' page into a mashed-up list of short, unconnected babbles that I'm sure would be quite interesting in context or - I don't know - on the same day they happened.  In actuality, however, it is like trying to read a bowl of Alpha-Bits.  And those damn marshmallows always squeak against my teeth and give me the heebie-shivers.

Thank you,
Peska

:)

Hot cinnamon tea?  check
Enormous ugly knitted socks?  check
Good book?  check
Down comforter with heating pad tucked underneath? check
Seriously ridiculous number of pillows? check
Cuddly cats? half a check
Bedroom window partway open, the better to indulge my fantasies of an actual winter's night?  check

Perfect.