Why yes, thanks I did have a good time. LOL
Posted on 06/19/2007 6:14:42 PM PDT by Soaring Feather
I’m so crazy over the likes of you . . .
| Your Personality is Very Rare (INTP) |
 Only about 4% of all people have your personality, including 2% of all women and 6% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, and Perceiving. |
No wonder I feel lonely most of the time. Sheesh! Long time no see, Ms. Soaring Feather!
I guess the “Daisy” song goes along with the song that had a woman named “Lucille”.
Cool, that is all that matters. 8^) Had you been there before?
Well, my goodness, how nice to see you again!
I would agree with your test results. ;) You’re lots of fun.
No need to be lonely Jan24 come on in and join in the fun.
Please write some wonderful poetry for us.
Favorite places while visited in dreams often times are re-visited. I know that I dream of Rome often.
Poetry? Sigh. Nothing moves me anymore, and I just hate nihilism and nihilstic stylings. So I mostly keep quiet.
;)
In other news, I stay busy working for a crazy company (I mean, “crazy, weird” is their stock-in-trade, they make their money that way. Never a dull moment!)
At night, I tell ghost stories to the tourists and make damn good money at it. Leaves very little time for chit-chat around here, unfortunately.
It’s nice to see you doing so well, dear heart!
Charles Dickens walks into a bar and orders a martini.
The bartender asks, “Olive or Twist?”
Ah, so sorry your muse is silent, but I do understand when one is working all energy goes toward that.
Glad you like your job sounds like fun. My friend the sculptress, is a story teller also, you met her vie the Internet.
So nice of you to stop around, it has been a spell since we have had a chat.
The Dragonflies’ Lair continues on which pleases me greatly.
LOL! You are sharp today Lady.
Great Graphic, tom!
Ah, but now you’ve inspired a rill. Let’s see...
I’ve never regretted time
I’ve spent at the beach.
I do not ‘comb
but wait for treasure...
a starfish abandoned to the shore
appears at my surprised feet.
a sand dollar is offered up
as though I were a panhandler
with a sign thus:
will slack for soul-food.
Or a proffered sunset so beautiful you could wish to
cast away to an eternal shore
of the cosmic magnificence
and survive on dreams of light and color
Too Hot, Too Humid, Too Much Sand in the Car
all stand as sentinels against the ungrateful.
But the treasure-haunted soul
is like the sand,
it waits for the sea
to bring what it will
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