Thursday, April 7, 2016


I did not write yesterday! Because I was occupied with eating almond butter and honey sandwiches and washing it down with almost expired vanilla flavored unsweetened cashew milk! On the deck, sitting in the sun, eyes closed, having a near orgasmic experience. WELL IT'S THE TRUTH. I am the Truth Teller, it's true.

So I am pretty dang darn damn proud of myself for feeding myself and for enjoying myself and for just relaxing. For one day. Today? We'll see! It IS hammock weather, so...

I know it is over two months away and it doesn't even matter, but I already know what I want for my birthday. That's kinda silly of me, yeah? Like, childish and selfish? Or nah? Look, I'm not asking for much. I just want an array of nut butters and jams/jellies/honeys. I will become a connoisseur of the PB&J. Or AB&J. Or CB&H. Or SB&B&H. You can try to figure out what those all mean. You can also try to figure out how to send me jars of sunbutter through the web. Thank you in advance, you are so kind.

I am going to start running outside. I am going to start eating breakfast every damn day. I am going to start sitting. I am going to stop wearing makeup even though it was fun for a little while. I am going to wear makeup if I feel like it, though. In short, I am going to start doing what I feel like doing. I am not sure if anyone has ever done such a radical thing before. But that's me for you -- a rad hammock lovin' honey eatin' fearless female (sometimes not even female -- what is gender? aren't we all just sexless aliens?).

I also want to find and marry a farmer. Maybe not even marry. Just live together in sin. Live together on our acre and a half of fertile land, in our fertile yurt with a corner dedicated to seances and bongo playing. One problem: Yurts don't have corners. :(

Gotta sleep more. Gotta call the dentist. Gotta clean and organize and sweep out some literal and metaphorical cobwebs. Gotta change the oil, probably. How often do people change the oil? Every full moon or something? Gee whiz, I shouldn't even possess something that requires oil. Farms don't grow oil, they grow potatoes. I will drive a bus fueled by russets.

There were a few more things I wanted to say... What what what were they... Something about washing my hair, I'm sure. Kidding. Who cares about hair? Cut it all off and give me a shovel. I'll plant my ponytail in the garden and watch it blossom into a bouffant.

This has been a post. Not a good one, not a bad one, just one. One of over a THOUSAND. Take it or leave it, just don't forget to send me my sunbutter.

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