In addition to figuring out what colour to paint the hugely heavy hall tree I scored for nothing on a local Facebook group, looking for freelance/part-time work and maintaining an acceptable level of sanity, I’m debating whether or not I should have an actual website.
I helped a friend set up a Wix website recently, so I went on and checked out some of the free options. It looks pretty cool but the big part for me would be trying to upload/prepare pdfs and samples of my writing. The ominous and overwhelming box of magazines sits in the back corner of my garage. That reminds me that I should bring it into the house before a mouse decides to turn it into a paper shred hotel.
Maybe I’ll wait until the kids are done school before I start. Why then? Because it’s a slow time of year (work wise) for me. I can Wixify my life out in the back yard while the kids are in the pool. I just have to make sure my computer – and my precious magazines – stay dry.
We used to have 6 fish: 5 various types of mollies and 1 fancy tailed guppy.
One day, when I was looking across the room I noticed the water was getting green. I also noticed the guppy seemed to be missing.
I walked closer to the tank and couldn’t the little blue guy anywhere. 2 weeks later when the water was more like pea soup I cleaned the tank. There wasn’t even any evidence of his bones. Did he disintegrate or did he get eaten? Did he become weak and get sucked into the filter? I know the cats didn’t do it because there’s a glass top on the tank all of the time.
You’re my boy, blue!
I’m suddenly addicted to raisin toast. I’ve always liked it, just haven’t eaten any for a while. Boobs, Mrs. Loo & Mrs. Muffin & I usually go out for breakfast on the weekend and for whatever reason I changed from my usual rye toast to raisin. It’s buttery, crispy, cinammony and sweet…(I had 3 pieces for lunch yesterday, limited myself to 2 today).
I have no idea why but raisin bread is the only way I’ll tolerate them in baked goods. They have no business being in cookies, butter tarts, covered in chocolate, nor will I eat them out of a little red box.
This picture illustrates exactly how I feel:
You can actually hear him hiss the word: “Raisins”.
I do anyway.
I’ve had this happen to me before. It is SUCH a major letdown. I bought 2 cookies at a fancy bake shop (all their other stuff I love) and was pissed that I’d mistaken those dark bits behind the display case for chocolate. You’re all excited about eating a chocolate chip cookie but then you’re immediately angry and feel duped.
I’m going to go hug my loaf of raisin bread and tell it that I love it.
For some reason I’ve always liked coming up with beginnings of fictional stories but never follow through on the endings. Maybe the beginning is the easiest part to write and since I’m not a novelist I never sit down to work through a story to put together the entire sandwich.
Here’s one I wrote when I was probably about 16 (a guess). Looks like an incident at a car wash or garden hose was on the brain:
He grabbed the nozzle from her, despite the fact that it was on high pressure. Not thinking, he blasted freezing water at her, pelting her eyes, nose and ears and slapping her good work clothes to the sides of her thin body.
“Shit, Mark!” she screamed. “You fucking blasted my contacts right off my eyes!”
Walking home, tears streamed down her cheeks. Blurred memories and vision (that asshole) made it even worse to see where she was going. To the fucking eye doctor for shit’s sakes to get more contact lenses. Why did he do things like that, she wondered. Shit.