Deviant Dispatches

Lately, I've been going through boxes of stuff from my former life (a.k.a., pre-Spousal Unit). The nostalgia is like crack. Musty-smelling crack, but still addictive. Starting on the left: My Poetic License , from high school English teacher Mr. Poss, famous for things such as throwing his keys at the PA system during class interruptions and reading us the "cease and desist" letter from a magazine sick of sifting through bad teen poetry. Definitely one of my formative teachers. Star Wars Bedsheets . They're for a twin bed, though, so they're currently useless. Doesn't mean I'm getting rid of them, though! My Softball Glove , from when I played catch as a kid. I can't remember if it was too small for me by the time I joined the middle school softball team. Mission T-Shirt . In the '90s, there was this thing where a school bus was decked out as a space shuttle. Teachers interviewed for a crew, and kids were "hired" to visit schoo

It's been a rough couple of weeks. There have been Reasons, certainly, but it all seems to have had a greater effect. Readers might have noted that I haven't blogged with any frequency lately, and I also haven't worked on the novel in ... two weeks, I think? That's unheard of for me. On top of that, I haven't been knitting.  This too shall pass. So here are some pictures and a vague attempt at shaking some of this off. Some good stuff has happened. The poppies in the backyard bloomed.  I had fun with my hair. Some friends got married in spectacular fashion. (There was even chair dancing .) We celebrated Avatar Day, this year by watching season one of The Legend of Korra in anticipation of season two. "Happy Avatar Day Father Lord." Thought I was being clever, but apparently we did this last year too . I got to see my nephew again for the first time in nearly two months. He has teeth! And the most expressive little so

(At least, to one who understands language.) I don't think I need to emphasize too heavily that there's swearing ahead ... . If you weren't lying on the floor like an asshole,  then maybe I wouldn't have stepped on you. You JUST ate. You're not good enough to deserve more food yet. If you keep whining, I will never feed you again. No, I'm not letting you outside today. Or tomorrow. Or ever. If you wake me again tonight, I'm going to lock you in the basement for the next six hours. Stop licking  my hand,  you horse's ass. Maybe if you behave, I won't get rid of you. Get off my pillow or I will throw you across the room. Look! It's the neighbor's angry dog. You should go outside and play with it! Stop peeing in your cage. We're only going to the doctor. (For some reason, I imagine this being said by Brock Samson of Venture Brothers.)