it's a convoluted mess
Hell week. Headache that won’t die and the sensation of my uterus being ripped to shreds and no drugs work. I’m considering googling home hysterectomies. I don’t need the damn thing anyway. But now I have Bob all to myself for nine days and I’m not sharing him. And I have cake. If the Nug doesn’t get to it first. — Hey Girl O.A.R.
When it comes to the music I obsess over love, sometimes it takes a little time for the switch to flip from Hey, I like this to OBSESSIVE FLAILING. Sometimes it’s almost instant (Andy Grammer, Ryan Star, Ingram Hill, Darren Criss) and after a handful of listens, the fixation is in overdrive. Sometimes it takes longer (Train, 3 Doors Down, O.A.R., Sister Hazel, Matt Nathanson, Better Than Ezra) to hit that critical point. Music can… Keep reading…Something always comes from the music anyway…
The Nug. Anxiously awaiting the UPS truck. Oh yes. Hello, Lover. If you need me, I’ll be in Thedas. Petting every Nug, trying to bed down Cullen, and searching high and low for Alistair. And probably slaying dragons and darkspawn, but that’s just filler. — Hey Girl O.A.R.
I was rifling through some old files recently, falling into a rabbit hole of bad web design and a whole lot of writing notes for stories long forgotten, and I found a blog post. I have no idea if it was ever actually posted. It would have been on my Live Journal, but I’m too lazy (and frankly, too avoiding-bad-memories) to go through and look for it. It’s nothing terribly ground breaking. It’s just a… Keep reading…Seventy-six days…
Either the roommate across the street is out of his damn mind, or he’s using headphones or a bluetooth device. Standing on the front step, smoking, head bobbing, and flailing his [cigarette] hand around as if he’s having a very animated discussion with someone, or listening to some music. Based strictly on the hand movements, I’d guess hardcore rap. Since the windows are closed (it’s 16 degrees outside) I can’t hear what he’s saying, but… Keep reading…Off that track…
I was looking at spice grinders on Amazon and everything appears to be marketed towards pot smokers. I just want to get a consistent texture in my Italian seasoning mix not make pot brownies. Whatever. In my current—never ending—writing drought, I find myself still fixated mostly on one project. I might not be making progress, but it’s holding my attention. That’s something, I suppose. I’ll eek out a few lines here and there, but not… Keep reading…Maybe I’m just high…