Solo Celebrating.
I’ve killed this piece three times so far. I think the razing of yesterday’s ramblings on guilt was the last big gutting. But really, it was trite. Been there, done that. I wanted to like the paragraphs I wrote on our snow day but I don’t write descriptive dialogue very well: my imagery was stilted and hackneyed and didn’t do the juncos justice. It, too, … Continue reading Solo Celebrating.
Annoying numbers and hard-boiled eggs.
I like numbers, save for those found in high-level cosmology and physics. And that’s really a jealousy issue: I hate that I don’t speak the language. I stopped my math education at university, year one. I can mostly understand the lectures but the papers and texts might as well be Greek. Which they also use. An affection for numbers is a good thing to have: … Continue reading Annoying numbers and hard-boiled eggs.
A smashed staple gun.
In case I didn’t mention it, I dropped one of my medications. In coordination with my doctors: I didn’t go rogue. If it turns out I did mention it, welcome to the update. * There’s been some good. The dread that accompanied the pill-taking is gone. I didn’t realize how heavy the burden had become until it was lifted. But good girls don’t complain. I’m … Continue reading A smashed staple gun.
Poorly designed experiments and good eyebrows.
My eyebrows are on fire. Obviously, not literally – that would be horribly damaging and I need more scars on my face like a fish needs more water. What I mean is, my eyebrows are looking up. Sigh. Again, not literally. But they’re thicker than they’ve been in a while. This is a good thing. Eyebrows are an important fashion accessory and the thicker, the … Continue reading Poorly designed experiments and good eyebrows.
From Famine to Feast 