Lead Words & Bright Lights

Words feel like lead.

That’s why I didn’t post yesterday. I tried to write and the problem is that I was trying and it felt like it. When I’m in the zone or telling the truth, words flow. When I’m forcing, it’s…


Pardon the crass metaphor, but it’s dry sex.

[See that? A metaphor that communicates exactly how shitty writing feels. That’s good writing. lol.]

I don’t have anything profound this week, but here is more photographic evidence that I’ve been outside.

And with that, I wish you all Happy, Happy Whatever You Celebrate, Even If You Don’t Celebrate At All!

You can just hear Harry Connick, Jr. crooning through the photo.

Published by

a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

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