It’s five miles south of the Canadian border, twelve miles west of the state line. I’ve never seen so many trees in my life. As W.C. Fields would say, “I’d rather be here than Philadelphia.”
It’s five miles south of the Canadian border, twelve miles west of the state line. I’ve never seen so many trees in my life. As W.C. Fields would say, “I’d rather be here than Philadelphia.”
nex was 16. they had a cat. his name was zeus. they played Minecraft. they were 16. they were beaten to death. they were a straight-a student. nobody called an ambulance. they loved rock music. they listened to the radio after school. they were 16. they were choctaw. they were 16. were.
A blog post in which I wax poetic about plants in an effort to avoid starting the next round of novel revisions...
Winters are hard. The days are short and dark and almost uniformly gray in this part of the world. Leaving bed almost always seems like a bad idea, even when there’s plenty on my To-Do List and I know I’ll feel even worse if I don’t accomplish at least the majority of them.
I’m at odds with myself a lot in winter. I take vitamin D (when I remember), I’ve invested in a Happy Lamp (that feels…