Hi! I'm Arbie. Pleased to meetcha! I write stories and stuff. I also post pictures of adorable creatures. I wrote a young adult fantasy and you can find it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079M27VKL! That's about it!
I’d describe for you the room in which I sit, the desk at which I type these words, but there is nothing there. The detail would lack, it would be: bottle, glass, controller, fish tank. No glorious prose can exist here.
Something stopped firing. In the time it took to change how I experience emotions something changed in how I relay what I see to my brain. That precious spark is gone and although I don’t feel sad, I don’t feel suicidal or like I might self-harm, nor have I in weeks, I feel numb. Creatively numb.
And tired. I could sleep for a fucking week.
I used to imagine that my narrative voice was that of an old man sat by a fire with children huddled at his feet. I’d enjoy writing down as fast as I could the scenes that my imagination would unfold before me. And now it’s empty.
It has to stay this way, too. Because as highly as a valued my creativity I value my life more. If this medication is the reason everything is dulled then I just need to find a way around it. Perhaps I’ll have to settle for a different voice. But does that mean past work needs to all remain incomplete?
I’ve started plotting. Not something I am familiar with as I normally would just write and see where the story took me. But now I feel my brain might do better with a map. If it knows the destination perhaps, if I tell it the scene, perhaps colours will appear and shapes will form and I’ll see again.
Even though this sounds miserable I don’t feel miserable I suppose I feel pensive. Is that the word? A word that needs a big fat cigar and a wide brimmed hat, watching over the people below as they play on the beach and I sit hiding from the sun. Fuck that does sound depressing. I’m only hiding because I burn easily and ouch. I did burn easily this past weekend.
So yes. Plan… plan the story. Listen to music. Force these damn characters to appear. It’s all foreign and it’s nothing like I had to do before. How spoiled was I? To lie awake at night imagining, to be cleaning out my animals and having so much of a scene fly into my view I’d need to run and write it all down. Now I’m begging and pleading for something to appear. I keep telling myself there’s no point in coming off the medication. Maybe it would bring back my medication but I was often too unstable to write anyway.
There’s a balance here somewhere. I just need to find it. If I care enough to then perhaps I will.
Okay, I’m enabling grumpy Arbie mode so please be advised.
Because I am grumpy! Not angry, I’m not bright red with smoke billowing out of my ears. I’m just grumpy.
Yesterday we took Stella to Petsmart and to the park. At both places kids approached to pet her. Awwwh, cute, right? Well not for me! Thankfully the first kid asked first and we were able to say no because she’s a new puppers and we’re not 100% on how she’ll always interact right now. So good kid.
The second kid was already petting her while asking if it was alright to pet her AFTER we had said not to pet her.
Now I know a counter point might be, well if you think she’s dangerous you should muzzle her or not take her to public places. But we don’t THINK she’s dangerous, we think she’s a dog in a new environment with new people and that she needs time and that it would be nice for her to not have to deal with strange people putting their hands all over her during that time.
I guess a part of me just doesn’t understand it because as a kid I was taught and told that you NEVER walk up to a strangers dog to pet it. Number one, stranger danger. Why are you approaching strangers? And I know that’s a sad world we live in when a kid can’t approach a stranger, but it’s a reality we live in. And number two, it’s not just that you don’t know the dog, but the dog doesn’t know you! Even as an adult I don’t attempt to pet strange dogs. I don’t know them! I don’t know their history, what kinda drugs they deal or make in their meth basements. What? It could happen.
I’m not half as pissed off as I sound it’s just… imagine if she had bitten? We’d said no, the kid did it anyway. She bites. Hello lawsuit and goodbye dog. So yes, this is why it makes me grumpy. If she did bite she would be killed for it. So please, parents, teach your kids not to walk up and pet strange dogs. I was taught this, I don’t think it’s asking too much! Again, props to the kid who asked and listened. Not so much props to the kid who wouldn’t listen.
I really don’t think Stella is dangerous at all, but we’re trying to set her up for success and give her a good life and I just don’t want that ruined. I’m sure there’ll be people readying their fingers to come back at me but I don’t care. My dog is not some kids toy. I wouldn’t like a stranger walking up and putting their hands all over my face, neither would you, why should she?
Hmpf. Okay. Grump officially over.
But aside from that we had a really good day! Stella got to see lots and lots of squirrels and wander around a new area. We’ll definitely be going back only this time I’ll be prepared with a 6ft stick and prod anyone who tries to come close.
How can a book be so well written but then ultimately pretty boring? How does that happen? How can I stop that from happening. Is it having a fully fleshed out world but nothing much going on in it?
I just got done reading a book called Ink and Sigil. The writing was awesome, the characters were great, the world building was *chefs kiss* but I was bored. I was bored a third of the way through, half way through and then near the end I just wanted it to be over.
Yet I liked the characters and I liked the world, I think it just goes to show how important a page turning plot is to me. I say to me, because I know a lot of people like meandering stories or slow burns. I’m not really one for it, unless it’s a ghost story with the promise of a juicy story coming. I’m talking ghost gossip in the ranks of keeping up with the kardashians if the kardashians were poltergiests.
Imagine being possessed by a kardarshian? In the future, rather than people being possessed by demons or victorian ladies (so many victorian ghosts) they’re possessed by kim kardashian?
“So, tell me from the start how it began?”
The lady sat across from me shuffled, her legs crossed one way and then the other more times than her hands patted her knees and her eyes flicked to her husband.
“It was the selfies,” she all but whispered.
Her husband nodded, his eyes not leaving the lip gloss stained carpet. “Then the cushions.”
The woman stifled a cry, pushing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes instead. “She started to push cushions into the back of her pants and up her jumper.” She stroked a hand through already finger dragged hair. “First it was just the throw cushions, you know, small ones. Then it got worse… soon she found California kings and…”
“And we don’t even know where she got those,” her husband finished for her.
Ahahahahahaha. Is that cruel? I hope it’s not cruel! But the idea of someone being possessed by a kardashian and it leading them to leaving lip gloss stains on the ground, endless selfie taking and pillow padding… well, it gave me a chortle.
I can’t even blame the sugar today because I’ve had none. Oh, tell a lie, I ate a peep. I always feel like a monster eating peeps. They’re just little peeps! Such cute little chicky looking sweets.
I think I might start writing again soon. I’m starting to get that pull, or is it a push, towards continuing a story. It might actually be the continuing rather than starting something fresh that’s holding me back. Nah, probably not, I’m just holding myself back.
But I was talking to my friend, an incredibly talented artist, about how old work can just feel like such a drag. I just have so much old work to go back to. And I hope I will. So many half finished stories. I hate thinking about it but sometimes I can’t help but wonder how different things could have been if I’d been medicated sooner and been able to finish all those stories. Or maybe I’d have never started them at all?
Even so, I need to crack on. I’m 34 now, so I’m no spring chicken! A summer chicken possibly, but thankfully not a winter turkey. I’m hungry now but I don’t know what for. Yes, I do, I want roast potatoes. Yeeesssss. Okay, those are going on my list of things that I want to cook this week.
Although we haven’t been grocery shopping properly in weeks. We subscribe to Hello Fresh which is pretty awesome for two mentally unwell adults who don’t want to survive on take out alone. It takes out all the mental tomfoolery of meal planning and prep and boom ingredients alone and recipe cards. So I still need to be doing something that becomes a routine nightly, but it isn’t too much that my thoughts mush together and brain shuts down. Rubbish, I know. But, if you know you know.
I didn’t keep thinking of things to write about though, and then promptly forgetting, which is brilliant because that brings us to today where I can’t think of a thing.
You know I was once told I had a problem with run on sentences? Personally I don’t think I have the problem with run on sentences I think those who read them and don’t like them have the problem.
I’ve written for long enough to know how I like to write and that ain’t cookie cutter! I tell you I have two degrees in English and Creative Writing and do you know what they did to me?
They made me worse.
They made me an insecure wreck while writing, shivering before any use of an adverb, because they’re evil don’t you know. I dunno, maybe I improved some, but I don’t think I needed to spend so much money on learning that which I could have taught myself just by continuing to write.
My writing output actually reduced drastically after those degrees. I wasn’t alone in this, others who studied writing spoke to me about having the same happen to them. I think some people thrive from those courses, people who desire to be told how to write and that there is a one way fits all way of doing it.
J K Rowling seemed to be pretty well despite her use of adverbs, Terry Pratchett, too. It’s almost as if being a good writer with a great story is more important than some strange guidance and limitations we put on novice writers.
Or maybe I’m just rambling, probably that. But let me be clear, I don’t like being told what to do when it comes to my writing. Want to know something I hate? Something I see as the mark of a book snubbed nose grubbing pixie arsed snot rag? When somebody says *ahem*, when somebody purrrssssss “shooowww don’t telllll”.
There I said it. When somebody comes at you and that’s all they have it is the mark of nonsense. Especially when you’ve balanced your showing and telling on a nice scale just the way you like it.
Ahahah, I say most of this in jest. I just had an afternoon nap you see and I woke up grumpy the same way I have ever since I was a child. Funny how some things always stay the same.
Anyway, no one reads this drivel so I can write what I want and then change my mind about it fifty times over without worrying about pitchforks banging on my door and lanterns alighting the porch in their modern day witch hunt gloooooow.
It’s funny how so many people are afraid to say what they think now, isn’t it? Or perhaps it’s sad. Maybe even dangerous. But it makes me feel a little better to call it “funny”.
What on Earth had I planned to write about today? Because it wasn’t this. Oh well. This is where my fingers took us this afternoon. Or perhaps my brain. I’m not sure which came first.
I don’t think I should have eaten those Haribo Sour Streamers. Too much sugar for this ol’ gal. I’m going to go before I say something that would REALLY bring out the twitter warriors. Although I think they’re all in a frenzy over Elon Musk and I’m just a little nobody with no one to worry about and an apple flavoured streamer with my name on it.
Well, last night’s evening walk with Stella took an interesting turn!
We almost didn’t go. We’d played a lot in the garden and my husband’s pains were plaguing him so we very nearly opted not to go on a walk yesterday. But, we felt bad so of course we got Stella in her leash and set off on our walk.
The evening was beautiful. The Sun was setting, but not at the point where it can still bake your skin, instead it was past that point so the air felt cool. I could hear children playing football (American or English, who knows) and it smelled both of spring flowers and wet freshly cut grass.
I was thoroughly glad we went on that walk.
We’d been walking for roughly five minutes, maybe a bit more, when I noticed a box drifting in the swampy area of the woodland. I always check boxes. I know, that sounds weird. But I’ve read too many stories of animals being dumped that I have an impulse to check just in case. Perhaps it’s the one place where having OCD can be a blessing.
It was last night, in any case.
I could just about spy that something was in the box. It was dipping into the water, half of it submerged by a weight I couldn’t yet see. I grabbed a huge stick and began leaning over the water to get hold of the box and pull it towards myself.
I could see something moving by this point. I was soon able to make out the shape of a possum and my husband yelled it’s alive as we saw what looked like a leg moving while its face was under the water of the flooded box.
Struggling, my husband took over and pulled the box out of the water. Inside was a possum, but sadly she had died. With her though, were three babies.
One had unfortunately gone to possum heaven with its momma, but the other two had climbed on top of their mother just enough to get out of the water. We could hear their little hissing, at which point I had no idea what it meant, and later cried when I learned it was them calling for their mom.
In fact later while showering I cried over the whole ordeal. She’d been killed, by a gunshot wound it looked. But that wasn’t enough. The murderer took her body, dumped it in a box with her still alive babies, and put it into the water for them to drown. At least, that is the story that makes the most sense from everything we saw. I can, of course, hope I’m wrong.
But back to seeing that two of the babies had survived.
We ran home, Stella running alongside us. The light was quickly fading and we knew that soon foxes and coyotes would be out. We grabbed some gloves, a cat carrier and headed back out the door, this time with the car.
Carefully we seperated the babies from their mother, placing them on the kitchen paper we’d placed on the bottom of the carrier. I listened to them crying the whole drive to walmart, and because I was ignorant at the time, I was wondering if these little babies were aggressive and their hissing was a prelude to an attack. Yes, I hang my head in shame, but I’m never too proud to admit when I’m wrong.
And we were wrong again. We followed advice online, first buying baby formula, then my husband rushing back into the store to buy puppy milk. Syringes, gloves, towels, a uh…. a turkey baster that I grabbed in a mad panic. I still can’t understand that one.
But we got them home and we got them fed. And then we fed them again, all through the night, every two hours. Me acting as a radiator for their poor chilled bodies (of course we had them wrapped up by now) and my husband trying to coax them into eating.
By the morning we were exhausted. I can’t express my appreciation for those who do this day in and day out, always caring for these orphaned and injured animals. And we found just that kind of person!
At first, while searching the previous night, I was scared. I was frightened I wouldn’t find anyone to rehabiliate the babies, every link coming to a dead end or a page no longer available. But then I found a phone number and upon calling it in the morning I breathed a huge sigh of relief to learn that yes, she was a wildlife rehabilitator, and yes, she would gladly take and care for the baby possums.
So there we have it. Two orphaned possums that we happened to cross paths with on a cool Spring night and the happy ending for them when we took them to the rehabilitator this morning.
We went back after dropping them off to look for the mother and her baby. They were where we had left them the previous night and we buried them together. I hope they’re at peace now.
So, that’s my possum story. I hope it’s my last, that I never have to see that again because no creature is subjected to that treatment. But, that’s wishful thinking. At least now I know there is a place to take them.
I think that my eyes are rebelling against my reading. I finished Sylvanas yesterday and today I read Animal Farm. Both were good reads, if very different, but my eyes now feel like they are filled with sludge.
I think I might need glasses. I just don’t want to get tested for glasses because I don’t like people poking at me.
Not a lot else has happened today. Oh! Apart from, a long long time ago, I can still remember, how the missile notifications started to blaaaaareeeeee…
It was in Hawai’i, I was there when they accidentally sent everyone a 30 minute warning that we were about to be struck by missiles. That was nice. I’m not sure what it has to do with the song American Pie though and why those two merged together but anyway I’m getting off track.
Back then, even when we got that notification through, for some body dysmorphic known reason, I decided that with impending doom around the corner I absolutely had to put on my eyebrows. You might remember my post from that time, I can’t help but laugh over my actions.
I think I’ve experienced some growth though in my journey of not giving a fuck. Ever since getting Stella I’ve cared even less about my appearance than I have come too. Don’t get me wrong, I know depression gets in the way of some basic hygiene and that I’m trying to drive in the opposite direction, but my obsession with not looking ugly I want to turn in the other 180.
But since having Stella and needing to take walks around the property with her for bathroom breaks and just little strolls I’ve not been so concerned with my appearance. I’ve splashed my face and headed outside. I know to many this is normal, this is no big deal, but to me it’s huge.
I’ve dealth with body dysmorphia for, hmm, let’s just say a long time, and I have come a long way since applying make up during a missile warning to being content with showing my bare face while outside with Stella. I’m not at the point where I’d feel comfortable going to the grocery store bare faced but perhaps I’m getting there.
I’m also not going to bullshit and say I wear make up for meeeee, it’s good for my confidence, without saying yeah I wear it for me because I feel ugly and insecure without it. That’s not a good thing. I’ve never understand why someone saying “I do it for me” isn’t followed by the question “why?”
Well, apart from it not being anyone else’s business, but I am nosey, and I do get fed up with influencers espousing body positivity while editing their photos to within an inch of their life. That’s something I’ll never do. I’ll use a filter to 44 or 48% (OCD bs) if I want to apply something but I won’t edit my features to no longer look like my features. I can only imagine that makes insecurities about said features even worse.
Urgh my brain feels muddled. Perhaps it’s more than just reading because I felt dizzy after playing frisbee with Stella which was before I started reading. Maybe it’s just one of those days, although those days were starting to be behind me. I’ll watch out for telltale signs of mania, but right now I just feel a bit off. It could be anything though, even allergies making me head weary.
I’m about to head out to get my dad a birthday card. I’m hoping it will reach him in time. I intend to put a picture of Chloe inside it. He never met her but he loved her a lot and was looking forward to meeting his little puppy granddaughter. It was pretty surprising to me just how much she meant to my family without meeting her. They were heartbroken when she died and were really there for me.
I suppose I better go before melancholy claims me. It’s easy to slip in and out of but it’s the slipping out of it that matters. Ah ha! You think you can sink your claws in to me upon every hour but I have support now and I have knowledge and medication and all you have is a stable place in my brain that I am slowly shrinking and I shall evict you!
Hahahaha. I’m not quite as confident as that. But, I longer hold on to the concept of wanting to be “happy”. I’m not sure why I ever wanted to be happy or thought I deserved such a constant emotion. No, I’m good with being okay and not insane. I’m content with that and if I get to laugh every day then I am a thousand times better than a year before and how lucky I am compared to many others who suffer?
It’s wrong, you know. It’s so wrong how many people are suffering with mental illness. How many people feel alone in their struggle, how many people genuinely are alone. I can’t believe their are still people who look upon the suicidal as being cowardly, or upon the depressed as weak. Depression is an illness and suicide the often fatal end of an untreated or incorrectly treated illness at that.
For the past few months I’ve been free of suicidality and I am so grateful for that. The thoughts come sometimes but that’s because of OCD and intrusive thoughts and not because of any desire to actually end my life. I hope if anyone is reading this who is currently struggling that my story can give you some hope that things can change. They really can.
But! I hope that today has found you well! That your cup of tea tasted sweet, that the sun touched your skin, and that you made time for something you enjoy.
First of all, and back to the title later, firrrssstttt of all!!
We are officially adopting Stella! If anyone has been reading these posts you’ll know that for the past near two weeks we’ve been on a trial run with an australian shepherd named Stella, and last night we approached her owner about officially adopting her and we were given the green light!
This is super exciting. She’s fit into our family really well (minus a couple of grumbles towards the cats, but it’s early days still) and we’ve really enjoyed having her around and I think she’s enjoyed our company also. She’s currently snoozing beside me, not on her dog bed, but next to it.
I can just imagine myself doing that one night. My husband climbing into bed and me brushing my teeth, saying goodnight, then rather than tuckering in beside him just lying on the floor.
“Goodnight, sweetheart!” ahahahaha.
I know that’s probably funnier to me than it is to you.
But, yes, we have adopted Stella! I’m hoping to take her on more exciting walks than what we’ve been going on. She’s from a huge farms with acres of land so she’s used to really tiring herself out and playing with a bunch of other dogs. Just, before we start going to national parks, I want to be sure she’s going to listen to me if I call her back.
I know she knows these commands, because she will sit for us when she feels like it and she does come back to her name, I think she’s just getting used to US saying them rather than her previous human.
Ah but yes. Instagram. I am now one of those people. I have made an instagram account for my dog and intend to post many pictures of her on there! I consider it to be a photo journal for her and I love that. When Chloe passed away, even though we had taken a lot of photos and videos, it didn’t feel like nearly enough. So, I’ve been taking a lot of photos of Stella.
You know I was actually too afraid to make Chloe a little instagram journal. I was terrified she’d become some famous pooch and someone would come steal her! I know… dramatic. But, I am dramatic. I’ve got over that fear though now. Although I am glad I never made an account for Chloe because shutting it down after only 6 days would have made everything that already felt so difficult even worse.
If you’re thinking I must be pretty sad with no life for making an account for my dog well let me give you a piece of my mind and let you know that you would be correct! Ahahahah. If only we lived in the UK. So many places to take her walking that are safe and where the temperature isn’t trying to kill me. That’s right, British weather is my favourite weather! I saidddd what I saiiidddd!
Speaking of weather it’s pretty rubbish here today, but I like that. It’s 68f and cloudy with a little drizzle. Such a relief compared to yesterday when the sun was scorching my freckley shoulders and getting me ready for a BBQ.
Have you ever tried tacos with the taco meat cooked in Hoisin sauce and Gochujang sauce? Damn it’s a good mix. Like seriously good. Mix in some cachews (no idea how to spell that nut) and top with some coleslaw ohhhh come to momma! Hmm it’s noon, I guess I’m hungry.
Oh last night I watched Top Gun for the first time! I know, sinful. I enjoyed it! I have some online friends that I often talk to on discord and we started a movie night and that was our first film. I loved the music and man I’m a sucker for those sunset shots! I always enjoy games with that kind of setting also.
Anyway, rambling on as I am I should stop this ramble because unfortunately I need to bury one of my corydoras. I’m not sure what happened to him but I found him dead this morning… which really sucks because he and the other black sail were always together and now one will be alone. I’m pretty sure it’s Abaddon that’s died but the way I used to tell them apart was when they would swim together because Abaddon was bigger than Oscar the third.
I can’t get this earworm to wriggle out and infect some one else’s eardrum. I awoke to the call of the pick pocket and now it seems like the only life for me. I thought I wanted to be a writer but I suppose instead I want to be one of Fagin’s gang.
A few decades too late, perhaps, but maybe he’ll accept late pick pocketing bloomers!
I always liked Fagin. Not sure why. I just saw him as an interesting character and not in the wicked and cruel Bill Sykes way of interesting.
I suppose Nancy and Dodger (whom I named a cat after) are my favourites.
Why am I talking about Oliver?
I suppose I have little else to talk about. It was interesting writing some short fiction again recently but I felt much more like I was forcing myself to see something rather than writing down what I see in my imagination. If that makes sense?
You know I even got a fish to help relax. But he’s a Betta fish and he just wants to fight me so I’m not sure what I was thinking. He’s beautiful though. I’ll include his picture.
He’s such a little fish but he thinks he’s so big and tough. Kind of like one of my cats that has gained a death wish since we took Stella on trial. Atlas (said cat) enjoys getting right in Stella’s face and screaming. So, it’s not just her that we’re training to tolerate the cats company (although she’s already pretty good at that) but him we need to teach to stop screaming all the time.
Cats are pretty hard to train out of anything though. And I may be glad we raised such a confident ball of fluff but it does concern me. I expect Stella will be loose leash trained for another few weeks at least. That’s if her owner allows us to keep her. We are on trial afterall!
I would like to keep her. I think she’s brilliant with me and my husband and apart from a lip furl here and a low growl there she’s been very tolerant of our cats. We’re doing slow introductions of course but for the most part it’s smooth sailing.
Now I’m afraid I’ve jinxed myself.
*taps wood vigorously*
*knocks it twice more for good measure*
Are we knocking on wood to alert wood nypmhs? Or little elves? Because if so does that mean knocking on wood is pointless unless you’re in a forest. I can only assume that no elves inhabit my desk. I can’t say how welcome they would be either given the mischief they can cause.
I miss woodland. In England I lived right next to woodland and I enjoyed walking in it. Here I don’t trust the woodland. Too many snakes and weird psychotic bugs and bears and alligators. The woodland here has swampy areas, although I am so distrusting of alligators I wouldn’t be surprised if one appeared strolling through the woodland.
I’ll return home one day! Maybe when the housing prices aren’t so insane. If that ever happens.
Anyway, as always I hope the day is treating you well and that you’re treating yourself even better!
I do not want to write. I repeat, everything in my brain (which isn’t an awful lot more than doritos and breadsticks) is telling me not to write.
I feel… what’s the word, not repulsed, that’s to strong. Ah, I have a strong aversion to writing right now. Which is why I’m writing, because the whole point of coming back to this blog was determination and training.
Only problem, I don’t know what to write about. Although, I know this is working. That writing in this blog daily is starting to get some cogs whirring because when I woke up around 6:30 this morning (dog was barking because she needed to poop) I had something come to mind that I wanted to write about.
Then in true brain fashion I’d forgotten about it by 10am.
We were placed under a tornado watch, as well. Lovely, I know. Nothing like having a dog afraid of thunderstorms and then mother nature having a giggle and saying she’s going to throw in a tornado for free. Thankfully it never came, and not much amounted from the thunderstorm warning either. Just lots of rain that made frisbee time pretty slippery.
I also got bitten by a fire ant. Rude.
I appreciate most creatures on this planet but there are some that I just don’t have time for and having received my fair share of fire ant bites, fire ants are now high on my hit list. For some reason they love our garden though. I don’t know what the neighbours are using on their lawns but ours also seems to be where the ants hoist up their frat houses.
It’s a shame because I think ants in general are incredible little critters, but these bitey stingy little fuckers are just a bit too extra in their anting.
Other than that I’ve been reading Sylvanas, a novel based on the world of warcraft character’s life. It’s good so far. I stopped playing WoW during Wrath of the Lich King so there will be plenty I don’t know about. Even if I have watched the cinematics and know that she was an absolute brute to the night elves. I’m looking forward to reading how this is all presented from her point of view. She’s always been my favourite character, even if I did spend most of my time playing as alliance.
I actually recently went back to WoW to try it out with my husband but it just wasn’t what it used to be. I don’t know what it is about it now but I just didn’t feel that same kind of magic that I used to feel. I think I’ll prefer to keep it in my memories.
There are plenty of things like that, where I don’t want to watch a film again or whatever because I’m afraid it won’t be what it used to be. One of the only things that always stands the test of time for me is Harry Potter. The movies were being played in a marathon while we were staying over night before picking up Stella and I had a blast watching them while munching my cheese curds from Buffalo Wild Wings. Man, I can’t get enough of those. Slytherin best house.
Ah well, I’ll leave this on the positive note of Harry Potter. Honestly, I feel like today is just not my day. I’m pleased I continued writing but I didn’t get much enjoyment out of it. But, that’s okay. It can’t always be enjoyable and the entire point is that I’m teaching myself to write even when I’d rather do anything else. Like rewatch Jenna Marbles videos or rearrange my stuffed animal collection.
I hope you’re having a positive and inspiring day!