Twelve Weeks Pregnant, About to Give Birth

I haven't really slept for the past week and when I do I have the same recurring dream: I'm reading my book without my glasses, squinting and straining and trying to make out the words, to an audience of no one. And I'm trying to smile and speak as I would if I had an actual audience. When I've finished reading my passage I close my book and ask the empty chairs if anyone has any questions.

As it turns out, I am more insecure than previously realized. Which is annoying. I want my confidence back, please.

I've been sick all week and not because I'm pregnant. I've been paralyzed with a kind of fear that's unfamiliar. The kind of fear that makes me want to turn away from everything and sleep. I can't put my finger what most scares me about tomorrow, about the book coming out and in the hands of strangers. I have this blog, which exposes all kinds of in-grown hairs to many people I don't know... never will. But there is something safe about publishing online. Perhaps because when I catch a typo I can easily correct it. If a post is poorly-wrought, I can delete it. Erase it from the record. No one will ever know I thought such things. Wrote so poorly... Make bad jokes.

When the books arrived on my doorstep on Friday, I was supposed to be excited. When I sat down to read the book for the first time since I sent in my completed manuscript last summer, I was supposed to be happy. Instead, I had a panic attack. Asthmatic and gasping for breath, I put the book down and spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, hoping it might fall on my face. Then I passed out.

The Internet has spoiled me with its code-of-armor. It's "disable comments," and "delete" and "create a new post" buttons... Every day I can post about something new. I can mature as a writer, be a better mother, a more interesting person. I can grow up. Change my settings. Contradict my own waterfall of consciousness. (Because lordy knows, there's no stream here.) That isn't the way with a published manuscript. There are no such things as red pens and new drafts. There is no way to disable comments. The end.

Frankly, it's insane to be doubting myself now. And stupid. I should be excited. True, I'm not publishing the Great American Novel. But there's plenty of time for that, yes? Life is long. This is a good start. A hopeful beginning with many more books to come after a decade of pushing and straining and creative breathing techniques. Keep pushing. There you go. Push harder! That's it! One more big push and...

...It's a...


...All bloody and covered in guts and shit except it's not really mine. It belongs to everyone now. Out of my body and my hands and my control. Goodbye book. Take good care. I hope you make a lot of nice friends out there. Just remember there's a lot of bad and beware...

Maybe then I just pinpointed what is most scary. Why I feel so sick. So vulnerable and weird and self-conscious. Because contrary to my recurring dream, there are people listening in the audience. People who paid the price of the book to listen. You and you and you. And you in the back with the purple scarf. You're all here in the audience even if I can't see your faces.

You're here and I so badly want you to be glad you came.


Bright Coppered Kettles, Warm Woolen Mittens

For this week's Flashback Friday, the prompt was "What are a few of your favorite things... Objects, mementos, memories, etc." At the beginning I thought of my journals. Specifically my very first, a denim notebook of poetry and stories I started in 1st grade. But I couldn't find the book for photographic evidence so I turned to the art I treasure and the family artifacts I feel blessed to have inherited.

My late great-grandmother, Frances Welsh Wright

My great grandmother was an artist. She was the third and final wife of John Lloyd Wright (son of Frank Lloyd Wright) and the two of them lived and died in a home he built, a place I grew up Easter-Egg hunting with my cousins in the thick brick of the facade. My mother grew up next door to her grandparents, also in a John Lloyd Wright house where my Nana still lives to this day.

I grew up surrounded by priceless architectural artifacts (John invented Lincoln Logs, originally called Wright Blocks and as children we played with them oblivious to their value) and stories of the dinner guests my grandparents and great grandparents welcomed into their home. Hollywood directors and famous thinkers, actors including my Grandfather's step-cousin, Anne Baxter, writers and philosophers, children of dictators seeking asylum, poets and painters and designers... Oh my.

I listened wide-eyed to such stories, imagining even as a child, the collective embodiment of so many brilliant and fascinating people, jealous that I wasn't alive to participate in such affairs. The dinner conversations! The after-dinner cigarettes out on the patio on balmy summer nights! The history! I dream of such things! What a life!

Years ago, after my grandfather's passing, my Nana sat with me in the thick of family memorabilia, collecting books and handing them to me. My Nana, also an author of books had decided it was time to pass along extinguished torches, books that hadn't been touched or opened for years. "Books that should be enjoyed and appreciated," she said. She knew that I would treasure them. And I do.

The books she gave me were mainly the collected first-editions of my great grandmother (Frances) who was also an author of many books. Frances was a true artist, born from gypsies in Hungary, dressed to the nines through her adult-years in Pucci gowns and Chanel suits. A beautiful writer and metaphysical philosopher, her ideas were profound and fierce and revolutionary and I was lucky to inherit many of her writing journals and books of quotations jotted down over the years. Besides being a fine writer and fashionable nymph, Frances was a beautiful painter whose work often sold with the homes her husband built and designed.

My favorite of the three FW paintings I inherited.

Frances lived a fiery, uncensored life and in many ways has always been my hero even though she died the year before I was born-- a sort of spiritual soul-mate I always felt I knew.

She also ghost co-wrote the Frank Lloyd Wright biography, My Father Who is On Earth. A real-life muse and literary inspiration, she spent years working with her husband on this:

(Unfortunately it isn't in the FINEST of form.)

1st Authors edition, inscribed by John to my Great Grandmother, Frances:

(click to enlarge)
I guess this was kind of a long-winded answer to this week's Friday prompt... But nevertheless, behold! A few of my most prized possessions, items rich with eccentricities and the kind of fascinating stories one must memorize so she can retell them and pass them on with her souvenirs.

Of course eventually the books will disintegrate. The paintings will fade. But the stories, if told well, are always the last to go.


Other Flashback Friday Posts (if you feel inspired by this week's prompt, send me your links and I'll add you to the list):

Holy Shit-Funk

(Updated below)

It's getting. It's getting. It's getting kinda hectic.

My book comes out in one week. From today. Which means I should probably be promoting the book right now instead of writing about Spring Break and Archer's new favorite hobby. Eventually I'll post about how at three-months pregnant I look like I did when I was five-months pregs with Archer, and how I changed OBGYNs again because my friend found this amazing doctor who happened to be covered by my insurance and I get to meet him next week at my very first appointment with a non-dick-doc which is just really so exciting because he's supposed to be warm and believes in the importance of birth-plans ... and he works with midwives and doulas and magical elves, I'm sure. I digress... Lots to blog about at a later date.

For now, I've gotta do the promo-shmeal. Ahem. So here goes...

Rockabye arrives in bookstores and is available online next Tuesday April 1st. That's April Fool's day for you kooky-jokesters.

I have cute little book buttons for those of you with blogs and room to spare in your sidebars. A few of you already be rockin' the Rock, so thank you. (If you're interested in helping/buttoning your bar please email me: and I'll send you the code asap on the double!) Also, next week I'll be doing some book giveaways so stay tuned for that.

Any bloggers local to San Diego, Orange County, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Oakland, Grass Valley/Nevada City, Seattle, Portland or Vancouver, I'd love to do book-giveaways on your websites as well. Email me if you're interested.

My westcoast tour is all lined up and ready to go. I even have plans to pick up my partner in crazy for a "Two Moms, One Car" Road Trip from Portland to Seattle to Vancouver. (We will be blogcasting all shenanigans from the road.)

Also, for those who've inquired, I'm afraid the East Coast/Midwest leg of booktour is kind of out of the question for now. (I'll blame the writer's strike for that shit.) I'll keep you all posted if plans change but that's the sad truth for the time being. Sigh...

Go Westcoast Young Mom!

Current and up-to-date locations and dates as followed:


1. Los Angeles: Saturday April 5th
Book Soup, West Hollywood: 5:00 pm.
8818 Sunset Blvd, W. Hollywood CA 90069
Launch party! Come drink wine and we shall dance!

2. San Diego/ North County: Wednesday April 9th
Borders Carlsbad @ The Forum 7:00pm
1905 Calle Barcelona. Carlsbad, CA 92009
Ye olde stomping ground! Bring your friends!

3. Orange County: Tuesday, April 15th
Borders @ South Coast Plaza 7:00 pm
3333 Bear Street Costa Mesa, CA 92626
Trade in your recycled eyeshadow canisters at the MAC counter for a free lipstick and swing by Borders on your way out!

4. Oakland: Tuesday, April 22nd
A Great Good Place for Books: 6:30pm
6120 LaSalle Avenue, Oakland, CA 94611
It's gonna be one great good time, yessir!

5. San Francisco: Wednesday, April 23rd
Books Inc, Marina District Store: 7:30pm
2251 Chestnut St., San Francisco, CA, 94123
Afterwards we're going to all go get Clam Chowder in the bread bowls on the pier, yes?

6. Grass Valley, CA: Thursday, April 24th
The Bookseller 5:00pm
107 Mill St, Grass Valley, CA 94945
Beautiful location for coffee under a tree and lots of stars! Close to Nevada City as well!


7. Seattle: Saturday April 26th
Elliott Bay Book Company, 4:30pm
101 S Main St., Seattle, WA, 98104
Anyone know of a good piano bar for after-signing fun?


8. Vancouver: Tuesday April 29th
Sophia Books: 7:00pm
450 Hastings Street West, Vancouver BC
Let's just hope we make it across the border. *Ahem*


9. Portland:
Monday May 5th
Powell's Books, Burnside Location 7:30pm
1005 W Burnside Portland, OR 97209
Last stop. Favorite city. Can't wait.

Can't wait to see/meet/hug/go out on the town with you guys! And thank you all for your continued support. Kisses on your cheeks.

leaving on a red train...


*I seem to have sent some of you faulty code. If this is the case please re-mail me and I'll send you code that works this time. Sorry!
** I'm having gmail/spam issues (I blame my former job) so if you don't hear back from me within 24 hours, please retry or comment below and let me know (that rhymed).

A Week in Photos

Archer rides old Butterfly: Balboa Park

Action shot: Old Butterfly, Balboa Park

Archer and the musical fountain. Water and music = Archer's fantasylandworld.

Chasing the music: LEGOLAND

Riding Copters w/ Gammy: LEGOLAND

Riding a Golden Retriever/Horse with Papa: Balboa Park Carousel

Lone Range Free Egg: My parent's backyard
(As it turned out, Spring Break wasn't so bad after all. Who knew?)


The Ass is Always (Less Painful) on the Other Side

After Tuesday's back-injury situation I decided it was time to high-tail it out of town. So I packed Archer and my bags and headed south to San Diego. We *almost* drove the 40 extra miles to Mexico, but, nah, been there done that. When I was sixteen. Partying in Mexico over the age of 20 just seems so... depressing. Not to mention the fact that these days I'm "all bump, no grind." Know what I'm sayin'

Anyway, after much debate, Archer and I left our Virgin Margaritaville fantasies behind, chucked our bubble-gum-cigs in the roadside-basura and exited La Costa Avenue. Viva La Casa de Padres!

There's something in the water here, I think, because almost instantly upon our arrival, my back felt better. It was like wandering into an Evangelist Church and being HEALED BY JESUS! My back didn't exactly feel *awesome* but after a few hours at my parents house, I could get around without pain or even irritation. I could lie down without feeling that shooting pain! Hallelujah!

Yesterday we spent six hours at LEGOLAND. My first time there, which is weird because I grew up minutes away. It didn't open until I left home but STILL. How have I not known the genius that is LEGOLAND until now? I may have to move the family south just to experience such a wondrous land on a weekly-basis. 

I always figured the place to be a shitty theme-park with faded-plastic shit tackifying the miles of land it disturbed during its construction. But NO. LEGOLAND is ARCHERLAND: Mecca for almost-three-year-olds who adore and appreciate sensory overload. And parents who love them. Thankfully, I had my mother to help with the child-wrangling. 

(I have a thousand photos I would normally post HERE but I left my adaptor-cord thingy at home. Will update over the weekend with super-cute photo-action.)

This morning, not to be outdone by yesterday's events, my parents and I drove Archer south to the Science Museum at Balboa Park for some hardcore learn-for-fun-times. We then rambled over to The Merry-Go-Round and Little Red Train, which my mother rode as a child and I rode as a child and now, sniff... Why can't there be more Little Red Trains alive and well, today? Why must the wondrous, magical trains of yore be replaced by soulless, arbitrary objects WITH NO SOUL. 

Two days later and a thousand miles of walking and rocking and pushing and spinning and watching and laughing and my back is still BACK. Doesn't hurt at all.

How did this happen? You know when you're running and you get a cramp and sometimes the only way to make the cramp go away is to run harder, faster? Forget R&R. Mama needed to keep running. 

She also needed some help. 


Spring Break Your Mother's Back

I was excited at first when told that this week would be Archer's spring break. "Maybe we'll go down to Cabo and take our shirts off!" I joked because it's Spring Break! Woo! Then I realized maybe that was inappropriate to say out loud. To strangers. Oops.

It took me until day one of Spring Break (yesterday) to realize Spring Break is for teachers and not for parents and their kids. Archer wants to be in school. He needs to be in school. This I now know for a definite fact. He has no patience for my activities. He could care less about our usual fun-filled Pinkberry runs and lazy afternoons knocking shit over in The Little Seed. Even the park won't suffice this week. Today even our back-up plan for difficult days: riding the trolley for hours back and forth at The Grove failed to result in a complete mission. A ten minute tantrum in the parking lot and "that's it. We're going home."

Dragging my spring-broken child back to the car, it occurred to me that I was in excruciating pain. My back's been jacked-up for days but I just wrote it off as stress-related. Not so much. My left ass-bone area suddenly felt like someone hit it with a baseball bat. I crumbled to the floor, begging Archer to walk on two-legs to the car. The timing!

"You're mommy can't walk! I can't move! OH GOD!"

Somehow we made it back to the car without me exploding and with a little coercing ("Wanna watch Cars and eat cookie-flavored ice cream cake. Cookie. Icecream. Chocolate?" ) into the house, where I was able to set up shop on the couch and fall asleep sitting at a 90 degree angle.

I have since been in and out of consciousness, chugging Glow Mama and popping soy chicken nuggets by Morningstar, pleading with Archer to stop jumping on my problem area.

Honestly, a shirtless Cabo mission doesn't sound so bad right about now. I'd gladly take dirty looks from strangers for being weird and inappropriate over this bitch of a stitch.

What's funny is that this post was originally going to be about what a great time Archer had on the Merry-Go-Round on Sunday (hence the photos) but once I started writing I realized I was too annoyed, sore and paralyzed to go there. But the photos are cute, I must say. If I didn't know any better I'd look at those smiling faces and think Spring Break was a good time had by all. I guess it is only Tuesday. If we pack up the car and leave now, we could be in Cabo by morning.

If only Archer could drive. If only I could get my hands on a wheel chair. If only... It wasn't Spring effing Break.


On My 10th Week of Pregnancy My Fembryo* Gave to Me...

A bump. A bump. A lovely baby bump:

What you gonna do with all that belly? All that belly inside your leggings? I'm gonna have to find my maternity clothes. Maternity clothes inside my closet. (I've been taking belly shots since week 6, o'er here. Watch me grow! Ch-ch-ch-CHIA!)

Also, because I've been really into recaps lately, here's a quick weekend update:

1. Zink magazine just reviewed Rockabye something fierce. High-five!

2. Puff the Most Depressing Dragon Ever: And more music kid's love to torture parent's souls.

3. Paper bride and Paper Mama, your one-stop shop for all stationary needs for bridal/baby. I'm good friends with the owner, a mama herself who rocks as hard as her products.


Fetus + Embryo

The Rules Apparently No Longer Apply

One of the first rules I recall learning during my first pregnancy was "absolutely no heavy lifting!" I took this advice very seriously, traded in my oversized handbag for a small over-the-shoulder purse and didn't so much as lift a bag of groceries until Archer was two-months old. (I was paranoid I was going to pull a muscle in my vagina and the baby was going to prematurely fall out. This might have had something to do with my "no book" policy during pregnancy. I kind of just made worst-case-scenario situations in my head and prayed I was just being imaginative.)

The day Hal and I moved in together, I, being ten-weeks pregnant, got to sit on the stoop of our apartment building all day and drink bevvies (bottled water) out of a paper (Whole Foods) bags. Every now and then I'd throw down some beatbox for the boys when my mouth wasn't otherwise occupied with snacks.

Meanwhile, Hal, my dad, Uncle Frank and our friend, Kelly, schlepped our shit like robo-studs, in and out of the Uhaul while I, the resident Tim Gunn sang, "Carry on! Make it work! Carry on to make it work!"

I remember feeling only a teeny bit guilty, but that was because I ate more than my share of the pizza we ordered for lunch.

"I'm eating for two!" I explained, hoping no one would notice my intense bouts of flatulence. I was apparently farting for two as well.

"Put the couch there and the TV there and how about you move the bed to the other side of the... Wait! I have an idea, how about you move it, here, instead... No! Hold on, let me ponder this for a good two-minutes while you balance that box spring on your head..."

I can only imagine how quietly annoyed my dudes were but IN YOUR FACE, PALS! I had the ultimate nurse-pass.

Anyway, long story short, I slept like a baby that night. I mean, what a day.

I look upon that afternoon with fond tenderness and those were the days deep sighs because now I know that those really were the days.

Being that I'm (once again) about ten-weeks pregnant and lifting a thirty-five pound child pretty much 24/7 when he isn't at school, I'm beginning to wonder if all that "absolutely no heavy lifting" was some kind of joke. Because COME THE FUCK ON, people. How can a parent possibly go through nine-months without lifting extremely heavy shit? If it isn't Archer, tantruming six blocks home in my right arm while I carry bags of carrots and baby bok choy in my left then it's me lifting hearty strollers into backseats, gigantic diaper boxes into shopping carts, spare-tires out of the trunk THE ONE AND ONLY day we were to arrive at preschool on time (damn you, old tires! Damn you!), backpacks full of sand toys and trucks and bikes and plastic snakes and yogurt to-gos and bottles of water and purses large enough to hold every Dr. Seuss book in existence....

Seriously, need I go on?

The good news is, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to pull a vaginal muscle and drop my strawberry-sized fetus somewhere south of Melrose. I'm smarter this go around. More experienced. I do however fear this second child will have some sort of lifted-heavy-things-while-pregnant-with-me complex which will only be heightened by the fact that #2 has to deal with an older brother who has an entire book devoted to how much his mother loves him and how he changed her life and blah blah blah...

Oh my God. I'm not even out of my first trimester and I already owe this kid a pony.


The Sleeping Student

Our student slumbers, dreaming of boats, looking about ten-years-old.

Hal and I have been renamed. We are no longer "mommy" and "Hal" but "teacher" and "teacher" which is strange and uncomfortable:

"Goodnight Archer. We love you."

"Nigh-nigh, teacher and teacher. Yiay-yuv-ooh."

I'm obviously thrilled Archer loves school so much but come on, dude! Do you have to take it all home with you? Apparently, so.

In other news, I hear Archer's been taking his job as flag holder very seriously. At least that's what his (real) teacher tells me.


Training Day

Several mornings ago, I awoke to crashing followed by screaming followed by "what are you doing!? You're ruining my bridge! No! That's supposed to... Stop! I just-- Give it back. I was almost... Archer! Look! I-- You're breaking it! I'm trying to--"

Archer was laughing. Cracking up, more like, with the demonic little giggle he gets when he's pissing me or his dad off.

Hal was not amused. I could tell by his "No! Stop! No! You...!!!"

When I made it out to the living room, Archer and Hal were sprawled across the floor, Hal's head in his hands as Archer, one by one, knocked over every single bridge.

"Uh-oh," he said. "Uh, oh. Oh no!"

"Archer," Hal tried to reason. "Can you please stop knocking all the bridges down. Don't you want a track you can play with your trains on? One with great impressive bridges?"

Archer was laughing again.

"What are you guys doing?" I finally asked.

"Archer keeps breaking my bridges!"

Hal was hunched over, frustrated and defeated. I realized this would be good practice or me, you know, for double-motherhood, so I gave Hal a pat on the shoulder and asked Archer if he would please play nicely with Hal (ed: Archer still calls Hal "Hal" and not Daddy. We've given up on trying to convince him otherwise.)

Archer was giggling manically again as Hal proceeded to rebuild his smashed empire. I knew it would end badly, so I asked Hal if he wouldn't mind making me some tea.

"Or better yet, how about you take the dogs for a walk, you know, let me take over."

"Fine! But don't waste your time trying to build an extension bridge. He'll only knock it over and laugh!"

"Okay. No extension bridge. Got it."

Hal surveyed the wreckage before shaking his head and leashing the dogs. Meanwhile I made myself comfortable next to Archer and his mine-field of a train set.

"Can mommy play?"

"Okaaaay," Archer said, grinning.

I proceeded to continue where Hal left off. Except for some reason... the bridges. The bridges! They seemed to be calling out to me, whispering, pleading, "build me! BUILD ME! Build me tall and strong!"

I rebuilt the bridges, straightened the tracks until voila! The train was constructed, nary a missing piece.

And then? Then... Archer stood up and with a giant karate kick, shattered my every dream.

"No, Archer! Noooooooooooooo..."

"Hahahahahahahahahahaha BYEBYE TRAIN! Hahahahahahahaah."

"Please, no! Oh, God! It's.... Just.... ARCHER, NOOOOOOOO!"

By the time Hal came back from walking the dogs, I was practically in tears.

"He ruined it! You should have seen it! It was perfect and he BROKE IT! I even got the extension bridge back up and everything..." Now I was hunched over, frustrated and defeated.

Hal realized this would be good practice for him, as a future father of two, so he gave Archer's little shoulders a squeeze.

"I'll take it from here," he said.

Moments later, Archer was at the table eating his breakfast, reading Green Eggs and Ham, while Hal and I put the finishing touches on our double decker bridge.



Flag Hag

Just in case anyone was wondering, Archer's official Montessori job is flag holder.

Next stop? Soap helper. I have to go die now from cute.


GGC BookClub: March 2008

1. Not Quite What I Was Planning: by Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith

I can't believe it has taken me this long to recommend/mention/ direct y'all to Not Quite What I was Planning, a collection of six-word memoirs by writers famous and obscure, edited by my good friends at Smith Mag. (If you'll recall I blogged the promotional video several months ago.) Larry and Rachel are great friends and in the last year, Rachel has become one of my greatest. One of my favorite women in existence to be sure. (Kiss.)

I'm also excited to announce that Not Quite What I Was Planning just spent it's third kick-ass week on the New York Times Bestseller List which is impressive to say the least. Buy a copy for yourself and your friends, co-workers, strangers on the street.

Oh! And be sure to enter your own six-word memoir for the Not Quite What I Was Planning Sequel OR you can leave your memoir in the comments section below. Click here to buy on Amazon...

2. Schuyler's Monster by: Robert Rummel-Hudson

Robert Rummel-Hudson's much awaited book is out and available on Amazon or local booksellers. Schuyler's Monster: A Father's Journey With His Wordless Daughter is the true story of a family coming to terms with a child's differences and unique gifts. Schuyler was born with a rare condition called Bilateral Perisylvian Polymicrogyria which affects her ability to speak.

A long-time friend, I've been a fan of Rob's blogs for a while. His story is unbelievably inspiring and his daughter is my new hero. I've only just started this book but already can't put it down. It's honest, heart-felt and courageous.

You can purchase the book, here and read more about Robert and Schuyler, here.

3. The Gravity Keeper by: Michael Reisman

Michael has been my office (coffee shop) companion for the last thousand years. Michael and I have vented, laughed, cried and peeked over one each other;s shoulders all throughout our various writing endeavors. Having supportive writer-folk around you is crucial for any writer, me thinks. So it gives me great joy to announce the arrival of Michael's book, The Gravity Keeper.

The Gravity Keeper is the first book in a series of "Simon Bloom" adventure books! A fantastic read for any and all young adults. Highly recommended for those of you with kids in the 8-14 demo. Or nieces. Or nephews. Or young friends!

Click here to order on Amazon!

4. No One Belongs Here More Than You by: Miranda July.

I don't know Miranda July personally. I just wish I did. I think this woman is one of the most underrated talents alive. She has quickly replaced my ex-girl-crush who, eh, sort of lost my love with her wtf speech at the Independent Spirit Awards. And her inability to find time to be humble for just five minutes, etc, etc, etc...

I started reading No One Belongs Here More Than You as my for-the-gym book until about ten pages into it, sweating my ass off on the bike, I had to close the book. Frankly, it was just WAY too good to read all sweaty on a stationary bike. It was worthy of a quiet nook in a cafe, or a park lawn. Or a treehouse. (If anyone has a treehouse, I recommend reading this book in a tree.)

If you're not familiar with Miranda July's work I recommend you go here, here and here. I then recommend you pick up this poignant and totally absurd, brilliant, heartbreaking, hilarious, wacko-insane-charming collection of mind-blowing stories and see for yourself what I'm talking about.

Happy reading!

And Happy 20th Birthday to my little sister, who, HOLY SHIT, isn't so little anymore. Sniff.


Hi! My Name is Cliché.

That jar was full this morning. Oh, yes I did.


Hazel-Eyed Updates

The Twenty-Two Hour Nap: If only I could get a job as a freelance napper. That would be awesome.
Bribing for Brotherhood: Because Ice Cream makes everything more exciting. 
The Sleep Pattern is Always Greener on the Other Side:  Speaking of freelance nappers. Archer's fired. 
Not Very Superstitious. Writing's On the Blog:  Blogger (n): person who cannot wait to tell his/her own secrets, no matter the consequences.