help me darlings. i’m strung out on so-so books. the last books i’ve read: olive kitteridge, the help, the book thief, cat’s eye, the secret of eden, unaccustomed earth, hotel of corner of bitter and sweet, and cutting for stone have all left me...
i had a horizontal weekend. bliss. any free moment was spent with favorite reclined in reverie. books were finished and started. our trees are full of baby birds! windows stay wide open and tv’s stay silent: their loud, sweet, springtime song fills our house top...
this weekend i need a roomy shirt. a long, loose shirt with stretched sleeves. a shirt i can leave untucked so i don’t fret about a stomach not sucked in. sleeves to hide freakish goosebumps. whom appear even when doppler reads 80 degrees. warm (to some). this...
oh my! don’t you just love open weekends that just melt seamlessly from no plans set, let’s see where the hour takes us to ….well isn’t this delightful and unexpected? this morning i found myself making snow angels lying in bed; giddy still...
my dancing both worked and didn’t. for weeks i’ve been bouncing, flinging, flipping, and romping round for the rain gods. breathless, the beasts and i bounded round the roost beseeching the powers that be for winter weather. bellied up, our tongues lolled,...
swear to god this virginia woolf bitch is kicking the shit out of me. furiously, red read the same page nine times last night. three entire sheets of paper dedicated to paint strokes ten years passed. i’m the one ready to put stones in my overcoat. and my does...
