The cat in my lap is growling at my other cat. When she does, I am making her vibrate so she goes RRRrrrRRRrrrRRRrrr.
I am probably doomed.
Writes all the things. Most of the things never write back.
The cat in my lap is growling at my other cat. When she does, I am making her vibrate so she goes RRRrrrRRRrrrRRRrrr.
I am probably doomed.
My word of the day is fraught.
“Fraught with… what?” you might ask.
No. Just: fraught.
I saw a quote online, “Happiness comes when we stop complaining about the troubles we have, and say thanks to God for the troubles we don’t have.”
Thank you, God.
Today I was not attacked by renegade aardvarks.
I was not invaded by anteaters.
I was not caught in an antelope stampede.
There were no airplane crashes anywhere near me.
…and I’m barely into the As. This could take a while…
I’m especially grateful about the aardvarks, though.
When people try to call my bluff, I tell them “Go ahead. It’s been there for a million years. I’d like to see you get it to move.”
I’ve gotten two “Hey, how are you?” e-mails today.
Each SAYS “I am a Russian girl who wants to find friends abroad.”
One is from “Constance.” The link in her message “to see her photos” would me to a Universal Soldiers web site.
The other is from “Hollie”, and is even more disturbing. The link in HER message would take me to a web site for the Disciples of Zor.
I don’t think I want to enlist as a Unversal Soldier, nor do I want to become a Disciple of Zor. I mean, nothing against Zor, per se. It’s just that I’m busy, and being a Universal Soldier OR a Disciple of Zor sounds like it would take time that I just don’t have right now.
Listen, Autocorrect. If I’d intended to write MWAHAHA! instead of Mwahaha!, I would have written MWAHAHA! in the first place.
I’ll give you the sole secret of short-story writing, and here it is: Rule 1. Write stories that please yourself. There is no rule 2. The technical points you can get from Bliss Perry. If you can’t write a story that pleases yourself, you will never please the public. But in writing the story forget the public.
— O. Henry
My dog is skeptical about 2015. “What was wrong with 2014?”, he said.