Liker of coffee and words. Occasionally cranky. tumblr elderly. I apologize in advance for my tags.
9 years down. 81 more until our granite wedding anniversary. We’ve got this. My great grandmother lived to be 108. I can make 120. No prob. You, my lovely child bride, only have to make it to 115 years old.
There is no one I would rather buy a tombstone for less than you. I have once again failed to write a properly romantic letter, but the beautiful things about our lives can’t be tied up in pretty words. The best moments are when you’ve got me crying with laughter because you know I’m stressed out and laughing will help burn some of it off. Or when you let me tell you long complicated stories about what I’ve worked on and you listen to it all carefully. I don’t know what I give you, but whatever it is I give it to you completely. I accept who you are and I love you so damn much. Also I laugh at the majority of your jokes. That has to be a plus. And I read you LotR aloud.
When the cat was sick last night you told me not to worry and that you’d take care of it. Because you are the care taker. Bertie and I are just here to shed all over and look adoringly at you. And to look sad when we’re hungry. (Some day I will do the magic thing again where food comes from the grocery store into our house and I cook it.)
p.s. You are my proverbial partner in crime. We have committed no actual crimes.
I am fascinated by your written correspondence thing with your cousin. It always sounds so cool. You are one of the few tumblr people I know who I’ve seen in person. Who knew mint chip ice cream was so popular? I mean, it’s my fav (actually mint oreo is my fav, but mint chip is a close second.) And the entire time we’ve been doing this meme I haven’t had any ice cream. This is a travesty.
DO NOT SHOOT MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE. DO NOT SHOOT PEOPLE. STOP SHOOTING PEOPLE. STOP KILLING BLACK PEOPLE.
I thought I just lost 8 pages of an 11 page script, but it was only the wifi at the coffee shop failing. On my way home to see if the pages were still there or not—I stopped to read about the new bagel shop down the street and started crying. I had sunglasses on.
Pages were still there when I got home. Looking forward to apparently amazing bagel shop opening soon. Still sort of crying. Might be hay fever?
I was tagged by ladyofthelog.
Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. Tag [ten] friends, including me, so I’ll see your list. Make sure you let your friends know you’ve tagged them:
So I am supposed to tag people and I hate doing that because I am leaving people out. So I will tag some people. But if you want to do this, consider yourself tagged. (That makes you sound like wildlife being tracked by scientists. But I am not tracking you nor am I science.)
It only took 80+ emails for me, imaginarycircus, ladywhizbee, and theloreleaisquared to make a single decision about a color.
When decided imaginarycircus sent us this…
…to which we then thought of another tangental plot bunny that sent us all CAPSLOCKING.
Sometimes, this show that doesn’t exist but will, keeps me up at night.
JAZ. YOU TASED YOURSELF? I… OUCH. OWWWWWWWW.
KyrieAnne and JJ are trying to convince me to watch the trailer for The 100. I said I would, but I haven’t yet. I’m scared. David is going on retreat next week and I will be alone and that’s when I tend to haul off and watch an entire season of some show and eat ice cream for dinner. All these posts are making me want to eat ice cream. I haven’t had any lately.
DOGS! THREE?! I am incoherent with dog envy.
Harrison Solow, Don’t Follow Your Dream
People occasionally stop me in the coffee shop and tell me that they thought they wanted to write a book, but they see me there every day—writing for six hours or more and having very little success to show for it. They say they don’t want to do what I am doing. That makes me sad and slightly worried that I look like someone is doing civil war surgery on me when I’m working.
If your daydream is to be a famous writer without having to actually write? That’s fair. Day dream all you want to. But if you actually want to learn to write well—you have to practice and study and read. Read everything. Read philosophy and history and economics and novels and poetry. (Don’t read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. I hate that as much as I hate Hamlet. Maybe more.) Don’t ever expect to make much money off your work. If you do? That’s awesome. Most of us won’t.
Hello there. :D I have never even heard of Clusterfluff. That’s so funny. Am assuming it has marshmallow in it? Marshmallow gives me texture issues—unless you melt them and put them in Rice Krispies. Oh! We had a collie when I was a baby—but she was like Lassie. All the border collies I’ve known have been sweeties. I love dogs so much. UGH. DOGS. Why can’t I have 20? (Or one?)
It must be fun to play Mary, but I imagine you can never crack a smile? I can’t act so this is all very mysterious to me. Like crocheting and drawing and not turning bright red when more than two people watch you talking.