I spent like an hour tonight putting stickers on the cover of my sketchbook. I'm such a twelve-year-old girl.
Today I was supposed to write, so naturally I drew instead and took my dog for a walk in the rain. She likes being towelled off when we get home. She wriggles around and presses her head into my stomach and it's nernie with a capital NERN.
What else. Emily read a story to me over the phone today that I'd written for her when I was fifteen. It was a romantic little number set in Ireland (of course) and really unnecessarily ludicrous. Like for example, I used the words "menaced them with his sword", "smiling Irish lad" and "ruffians". All I can say in my defense is that I was writing for my audience. What my audience's defense might be, I have no idea.
Plus, lately Facebook has been blowing my mind in twain. Just this week somebody posted my grade one class photo, and someone else put up a picture of Marian in her brownie uniform. O_O;
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Shut up, I was only in that uniform, because otherwise my delicate undercover operation would have been blown. I DID IT FOR THE MONEY. I mean, in a badass mercenary way, and not in a child prostitution way...
Whatever, shut up.
MARIAN WAS A BROWNIE??? WOOT!
Funny how you failed to mention that in the, what four years that I have known you. VERY FUNNY INDEED.
But I only mentioned it because it was so ADORNABLES. You were all little and stuff!
Whatever. I was probably wearing a frilly pink sundress at the exact moment that photo was taken.
We did what our parents made us do.
(Not in a child prostitution way.)
Ok bitches. LAUGH IT UP.
And anyway, now I know how to survive in the wilderness for a year with a piece of sharpened flint, and a pack of expended batteries, and half a carrot, so THERE.
Defense?? I have no defense, that story still gets me hot. oooooooohhhh yeah.
Ooh, I want to see the fancified sketchbook.
How is the writing going? At all? Even a little? Drawing instead is good too, though. At least you are doing something "in stead."
I want to read your old stories. Could we trade old stories and laugh til we cry?
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