- Yesterday’s clouds burn away in the rising sunlight that trickles in through grimy windows to wake me before the alarm. Tis the season.
- Speak, whether they listen or not.
- Bless you, neti pot.
- Singing with loud abandon never fails to clear whatever disgusting blockages a cold puts on my voice, my mind, my soul. When worship ends, I feel healed.
- Burn the ships.
- My anger at witnessing witholding–and its see-through cover up–is sharp and desperate. Tell me the truth. Even if it hurts. Let’s handle it together.
- It’s our first real kid birthday party (even though it’s also his party, too), and I had no idea how much running I’d be doing. I barely spoke to anyone, took only a few pictures, wasn’t present with my child or my husband for their special day. Did I Martha this up?
- Damn, that’s some good cake.
I hate fireworks. I love fireworks, just not in my neighborhood. Less in the adjoining yard. Less-less now that I have a small child trying to sleep.
Of colds, burning the ships, damn fine cake, and how much I hate fireworks.