just so you know
eight.
sometimes i wonder if i'll ever wake up feeling any older than eight years of age.
and by sometimes i mean more often than not.
because it has yet to happen.
whirlpool.
yesterday something hideous moved through me.
a mood.
a bad mood.
a bad mood to end all other bad moods.
i walked past the bathroom in the new apartment and stopped.
my love for this new bathroom knows no bounds. our tuscan bathroom, i call it. (something about the tan stones has led me to dub it as such).
our tuscan bathroom has a whirlpool bath. and because i've long longed for a bath in which to fall apart, i thought, hmmm... this tub will do. this tub will definitely do.
and so i ran the warm water. climbed in. prepared for some kind of release and pressed the whirlpool button.
rumble. bubble. rummmmmble.
and dirt.
an explosion of dirt.
yes, dirt.
i quickly turned the whirlpool button off.
and remained in the warm water as the brown chunks outfitted in various sizes and shapes swirled and pooled around me.
and i thought, yup, this is about right.
after all, it was release i had been in search of. and beggars can't be choosers.
the cake
it should be noted...
that i made it.
yes! i know! i who may not know how to cook, can whip up baked goods when push comes to shove.
that being said...
that i made the frosting.
and that the frosting was not yet hard enough when i placed it on the warm cake.
(it has been a while.
since i baked.
anything).
and that i may have left the party with frosting in my hair.
on my left arm.
a tad on my boot.
and just a wee bit on my skirt.
and that victoria may find frosting in her kitchen for days to come.
that being said,
it was a hit.
(i think.)
{i hope.}
ps:
a word about plagiarism...
i love when people reference my blog. or cite it.
it flatters me to no end. lets me know that things are
relevant and relatable.
(and it always makes my giddy when someone tells me,
but it's not necessary--it's that person's prerogative.)
i get that the blog world is in many ways about
inspiration. and this lends itself to a certain
amount of passing of ideas. we borrow from people.
use their ideas as a spring-board for our own.
it's an amazing phenomenon.
and a lovely form of sharing.
plagiarism is not these things.
it is stealing. you know it when you
see it. you know it when you do it.
if you think maybe you've done it--if
you're unsure--chances are, you have not.
i hate that i'm doing this.
but let it serve as a little public-service
announcement:
(note the sidebar. and then scroll down).
follow up: i was alerted to the plagiarism by a very kind reader. i love it that you all have my back--it means so much.
this chapter.
i've been thinking a lot about what i might call this period of my life when i look back on it in twenty years.
(because this is the kind of thing one must think about. {obviously}.)
and i have decided, after much consideration, that it shall be called:
the period in which i learn to blow air through my lips in all directions and manners of fashion as an attempt to keep myself calm.
(and find that alone to be completely insufficient. {obviously}.)