I have another nephew. His name is Connor. He was born today. I'd provide a picture, but the only one I have right now is the "I was born a few minutes ago and am still covered in blood and placenta" pose.
Haven't started my new job yet, but the drug test is done and I've filled out my paperwork. Now I just have to wait for them to get everything filed and in order.
I took Russ to the library for the first time in ages:
And to a lake hidden away in the middle of the city (and I swear the swan living there is stalking me):
And he also acquired a new pet:
That caterpillar is six or seven inches long when fully stretched out. I think it turns into a luna moth, but I'm not sure.
Yesterday, my cat threw up on the rug; I went to clean it up and found something moving in the pile. And that's how I discovered my cat has worms. You don't know what disgusting is until something like that happens. I'm still washing my hands.
Oh, and I also heard from Doc for the first time in weeks. We spent about ten minutes catching up and another thirty discussing technology and how I should write a book called "Tumblr Girls." I promised to buy him lunch with my first paycheck, just cause I'll be able to do that.
If you haven't been playing Distinction this week, you're missing out - tomorrow is the last day! I may leave it going an extra day so the last piece has a chance to get some comments. Run over to StyleOverSubstance and play along!
In the most important news of all, I finished Ace Attorney: Dual Destinies and don't know what to do with my life now. Currently, I'm waiting on some Steam sales on the things I want
I find myself in need of points to extend the premium memberships of both StyleOverSubstance and DailyLitRecognition. I have a Bookmark Special! Zodiac Charms ongoing right now, as well as my usual bookmark custom orders. I'd appreciate anyone who helps me out
The Writer's Smile Project
Day of the Dead Contest!
FACE YOUR FEARS
Ghost Stories Lit. Contest
Love Letter Contest
The Mention Game
Ghost Stories Lit. Contest
As always, dA is in top form during the Autumn season
equinoxthese days Autumn stands with crossed arms
and a hunched back, branches bending to braid
her auburn hair, toes curled around dry leaves
and withered roots.
she's tried to call me a few times,
tried to water the traces left over from
thinks a reconciliation can happen out of
stems and petals.
13 missed calls: one for every day
she's been back in town.
her stance used to be wide; feet apart,
arms spread to the sides, smile aimed
towards the sky-
her smile aimed towards me.
i go to the park every day and see her hanging
upside down from the trees, scratches etched
all over her arms.
i trace the ones coating my own skin,
remembering the bark slicing me to
i can't help but hope that she loses her grip,
loses it the same way i lost her
when Winter came along.
Road TripI haven’t been reading.
I had a list:
18 novels long.
Tonight we’ll take a road trip
and over the dotted line border between coming and going
the rain that slicks the pavement
will mingle with gasoline in our nostrils
but we’ll be too intent on our own conversations
and I’ll leave Billy Collins on the passenger-side seat of your car.
I’m holding my breath in a sea of taillights.
My hair is rustling leaves
and there’s a speck
Solitary hailstone shatters;
middle of the road.
like a pupil from the point
“I don’t care if everyone at my funeral hates me,”
Adrenaline takes effect in less than ten seconds
and my sockets are singed from the blast.
Am I to be a grasshopper in this scenario?
Am I to expand?
“so long as I live the life I want to.”
Preserve me in cellophane.
All the headlines
on the win
Mating CallsThe whip-poor-will cries.
Night's solitude broke in twain
by loneliness ; need.
perseveranceI'm the kind of empty
that sounds like banjos
mourning a dry river bank,
the kind of weary that plants roots
in muddy soil and rejoices
because it has known the desert.
I'm the cracked skin oozing tar
on a logger's hands, the tobacco
that's grown into the spaces
between his teeth.
I'm the gnarled old oak that children
tell ghost stories under in summer -
my floor serves as a graveyard
for fireflies that dim themselves
under the glory of the stars.
And still, still
I grow new leaves
moths swarmed into our throats.we danced in that pumpkin patch just off of highway 9
at 2 a.m.
he howled up at the distant moon,
who stared down at us in that dumbfounded gaze
as it rested lorn-fully against the sky.
somewhere in town kids were getting ready to go to the houses of strangers
their parents have known for years
and ask for candy and make-uped smiles.
no one cared about the two dead boys wading through a knee-high sea of bright orange pumpkins;
no one gives a damn what ghosts do in october,
as long as they're not haunting them.
Mastering MeIn another universe,
I have green eyes, curly hair,
and paint smeared across all my fingers--
a war cry of artistry
instead of needlepoint scars.
The pooch of my belly
and the lumps in my thighs
might be from anything else
but the insulin I inject four times a day.
I grow up a child, not a parent,
the master of my destiny
not running away but running toward;
I'm a little bit taller
in spirit and stature,
in all the ways that matter
when darkness creeps under the door
and phantoms howl.
I shave my legs every day
instead of once every month
once every three months
once every only now and again when I feel like it
and I'm confident--
a goddess with the stars
around her neck
instead of pearls--
in any type of heel.
In another universe,
I still trust myself
behind the wheel of a car;
I have mastered winged eyeliner
and smokey lids;
I gave up chocolate
or whatever it is
that brings on migraines
just because I could,
just because it's better for me,