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starfrostingThe mud puddles on the path back to my house (ie, Noyes) are frozen solid enough to walk on. When I came in walking through my hallway it smelled like home: that amazing smell of *cooking* which is actually just sautéed onions. Elizabeth was making soup.
I was locked out of my room. Again. I think I was locked out yesterday, though maybe it was the day before.
As I was walking in the aforementioned puddles earlier this evening a poem popped in my head. I think I forgot it. I fucking hate that so much. And also I feel like I have not been writing enough recently which makes me think of myself as sort of pointless, if that makes any sense. I guess the solution to that is to write.
Off to work on my erotica piece for Squirm...(if you want to read what I have thusfar and offer commentary, drop me a line.)
Peace out.
I was locked out of my room. Again. I think I was locked out yesterday, though maybe it was the day before.
As I was walking in the aforementioned puddles earlier this evening a poem popped in my head. I think I forgot it. I fucking hate that so much. And also I feel like I have not been writing enough recently which makes me think of myself as sort of pointless, if that makes any sense. I guess the solution to that is to write.
Off to work on my erotica piece for Squirm...(if you want to read what I have thusfar and offer commentary, drop me a line.)
Peace out.
