Freestyle Friday

I’m writing this from the Jetpack app in bed on a Friday morning off work. I’ll spend my morning padding around my apartment like the imperious house cat I am and the afternoon downtown at a free writing conference.

Looking forward to some informative, inspirational writing chat. As well as the chance to hangout downtown on a Friday afternoon instead of being stuck in the dull, suburban wasteland where I work.

This is how one does a day off.

Virgo season update: added $500 to savings last week, locked the debit card linked to said account (and put it in the freezer), and have not ordered any DoorDash this week.

Baby steps.

My least favorite Internet phenomenon is “Celebrity death as grievance platform.” It’s always people defending their right to be total assholes as if flowery condolences or pitchforks are the only options when a public figure dies.

“Quiet” is right there. You can always be quiet.

I promise dancing on someone’s grave before they’re buried says more about you than the deceased.

I started to answer a prompt about “why I blog,” but like most of my attempts at “trying to write” lately, it was self-serious nonsense.

On my better days, I’m a writer. On my worst, I’m a ruminating narcissist. Therefore, I blog.

My favorite Hollywood Chris (The Thinking Woman’s Chris) has had quite the news week. Of all the dissociative “Somebody please kill me, I just wanted to make an interesting movie” content I’ve seen, nothing beats the following.

I, too, loathe the addictive pull of my smart phone. I’d love to tell Chris Pine all about it over aged whiskey as he tells me all about the John le Carre spy novels he tore through before the iPhone ruined his brain. If we were naked for this chat, all the better.(1)

As I’ve been trying and failing to finish books, I have to wonder if I’m still into reading as much as I’m into the idea of being a reader.

Gonna be honest: losing my love of books would devastate me. But even as I read that sentence, I can’t recall the last book I loved.(2) Liked, maybe. But love?


What I’m in Into

How many times have I watched the Battle of the Stepstones from Sunday’s episode of House of the Dragon? The limit does not exist.


(1) Fantasies of handsome, slightly pretentious celebrity men is how I scratch my Venus in Virgo itch.

(2) Wait. Yes, I can. The Worst Guy by Kate Canterbary. Which I read at the end of 2021.

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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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