While wearing my tinfoil writer’s hat, I search for inspiration constantly. As evidenced by the blog droughts experienced here, sometimes there’s not a whole lot of inspiration to be found. I struggle with the idea of putting my own, personal spin on things like sweeping the floor or the never-ending struggle to time my shower for the perfect amount of hot water in the hizzy. Y’all don’t want to hear that. I know it, you know it, let’s move on. But, as a writer, or artist,...
There are two analogies for my life that I beat, like a dead horse. That was good, eh? Spinning plates, and a chariot about to tumble over, with me holding the reins in an icy grip of “holy fuck.” So, yeah, things are great, and when I drink my morning coffee, the thousands of things I must accomplish fly at my face and I cringe, then suck it up and get my plan together. No time for hiding in my room, watching 90210, dreaming of concierge service. Much. This morning, however, after the...
Dear Blog, Logging into you this morning was much like being held by that guy who totally broke my heart, smashed it to pieces and left me for dead. No, it was totally better. I miss you, like lots. Which may be weird to the general public, but the other bloggers get it, and that’s all I care about right now. The other bloggers, and you. You complete me, fool. Understand that NaBloPoMo was, as always, more than I could do all month. Especially over a weekend during which I could not bring myself...
I’m down two glasses of wine. Everything is ready for the oven, the turkey is actually done, and at my sister’s behest, I have called my grandmother. I am cooking for the kids, the ex, and the housemate. When I say that, I get this weird eyebrow response. Yes, I’m awesome. I’m not only making a turkey, against my moral fiber, but I’m making it for people, with the exception of one or two, who could really care less. Why? Fuck if I know. That’s why I poured my first...
