Westley: Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where is Buttercup?
Inigo Montoya:
Let me 'splain.
[pause]
Inigo Montoya:
No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
So. It's been a while, right? Here's something bizarre: I've been writing this blog for something like three years now. I thought I'd established a pretty fixed writing habit. "(What She Means)" was no blogging lark; oh no. I was in it for the long haul. And yet, as I discovered over the last several weeks, the more time that went by without my posting so much as an emoticon, the more impossible posting, as an activity that someone might actually do, felt. And thus the time trickled, spouted, and eventually gushed along until I found myself wondering:
Am I done?
no.
But I still don't have the frigging time for a long post!
So here it is, the texture of my experience, with an explanatory note here and there.
Mining for crystals.
Birthday. Officially in "late 30s."
This picture makes the Washington Corrections Center for Women look nicer than it generally is.
For starters, it should be raining.
Goodwill baby-doll love.
So, so sick.
Minecraft, our lives will never be the same.
My office.
WCCW.
Oscar's first stop-motion, yo.
Hearts Are Thugs.
Rafa called this picture "Ladybugs."
Yep.
Dropping off and picking up and dropping off and picking up a hardworking man at his place of employment.
(No, I still have not eaten there.)
Thanks for reading, friends. I'm rusty, but -- Lord willing -- I'm back!
