Whoooooaaaaahhhh!!

Allz I gotta say iz, it's not my fault! It's been so long since I've written that I forgot my password. But here's the thing, my new closet at my new house in my new city is big enough to fit the length of a kayak...as there is one in there currently. It's sort of like a small basement on 1st floor level. Or a garage with no remote control door. Or a yacht without a sail. But really guys, I just said "yacht" because a certain arguement over pasta the other night consisted of carving the said word into a cabinent wall in hopes to win the closest and most correctist spelling. My closet doesn't look like a yacht at all. It's off-white. In any case, it is a bit like Narnia or Malacandra, and as I have proven true, one can get lost for months in there. But I admit, I am alive. In more ways than my physical.

Ah, so, the update. Since I've left the mid-west and ventured yet again to sweet southern bliss, a twist of welcome-home fate took its toll against the lighter side of life. I moved into a house where the previous tenent performed cat sacrifices in my oven. Pretty sure anyway. Have you ever had to mop your walls? Just wondering...
The brunt of chaos actually happened to my best friend and not me...which in real life I'm greatful for (sorry dude) but in writing, it'd make for a much better story, seeing as how I'm the one writing.

Alright, day we moved to newest happy city, half way there--car broke down. Luckily, back up car hidden just a few hours away. Waited at lonely abandoned parking lot for 4 hours until ride showed. Started new life with new back-up car--3 weeks later it gets totaled in a mad crepe myrtle catastrophy. Decided that only option was to get job in walkable distance. Walks to work. Walks home from work. Gets robbed and beaten at gunpoint--minus the robbed part because after having given the thieves the wallet, they forgot to take it. Genius. Started riding bike as not to be such an obvious target. As smart girl that I am, I buy beaten, tired, stinky victim Bible in time of need. Having ridden bike to my house in thanks for the gift, said bicycle gets stolen off front porch. I think at that point we dug potato sacks out of Narnia and with our faces covered in ashes, we beat our chests. Yeah, that sounds right.

Nothing in above story is falsified or amplified, surprisingly, given the absurdity of the content of the story and given the melodramatic nature of the writer of the story.


I have to rebuild my writing strength, learn how to walk again in vocabulary and exercise my thoughts. I'll be back. Hopefully before I have another great story to tell.