My Favorite Posts

Pet Peeves

In Which I Ask Myself, “Why?”
I am at a crisis-ish point. I don’t wanna. The only “wanna” I got has to do with coffee, a warm blanket and my internets. Or Hulu. And cookies in the oven then subsequently… in mah bellee. I don’t wanna keep going. But I can’t stop. Running. I’m talking about “running. I took this pic today after my 11 mile run. I feel this pics says, “Save me…” Maybe it says, “I just took 800 mg o

Favorite Things Friday
I like stuff. I get excited about cute stuff, fun stuff, helpful stuff and stuff stuff. These things are some of those stuffs. Also, none of these stuffs have been given to me to review, nor have I received any compensation… except for the satisfaction of my heart… I just want to spread goodness. And the following is goodness. If you like what I like, that is… 1) Hotties. Perhaps I should be more specific. These little hand-warming wonders make me do a little happy dance on a cold day… and also keep my fingers moving:

It Is So Hard to be a Blogger Person.
You don’t even know. Wait. If you are reading this, you probably do know. Or not. I don’t even know. It’s just hard. There’s the entire being this part of a blogger that clamors for… for… comments. For traffic. How can one build fame and renown if one can’t talk about it? Sure, we write, but we exist in a world of people with ears and mouths. Not just screens and keyboards. But when we must interact with IRLs… how does

I Want to be Four Again.
And it’s not just because I don’t like the wrinkles that come with aging, or the new aches, or the awareness that gravity… is not a friend. I want to be four again because I long for the heart. I want to wear crumbs on my face and not care. Not because I am lazy. And not because I think a crumby face is a good look. But because how silly is it to worry about whether one’s face is a little crumby? When one is four… no one cares about crumbs.

I have no idea.
I am tired and got myself into a spot where I cannot catch-up. October was a tornado. But not of cows and machetes and travel trailers, bathtubs and bad witches, but of errands and commitments and laundry and dishes. What is the fruit of such things? Nonsense. This post, for example. Is it writer’s block or birthed from the loins of chaos. Yes. And I want to say