If you try to correct my grammar or my questionable choice of words, it is because you don’t understand my sense of humor. Either that, or it’s not your cup of tea, in which case I suggest that you put more sugar in it. I don’t mind lending you some, because I carry sugar in my purse in the event that someone should ruin the large triple-triple I order.
In case you’re wondering, I am not aspiring to be anything. I AM a writer, I AM at peace with myself, and I AM the princess of my fairytale which unravels in the daylight hours.
Today, in the midst of diagnosing myself with terminal writer’s block, I jumped in the bubble bath to try and overcome it. Then I wrapped myself in a gigantic pink towel and spread this yummy-scented lotion on my skin. I sprayed my sheets in lavender and laid down in my four-post princess bed whilst listening to jazz and reading ‘Grimm’s Fairytales.’ Then I asked my dog for advice about the writer’s block, but I don’t think he was in the mood to have a discussion.
It happens to be a gloomy day, and gloom is my thing. It relaxes my little muscles and inspires a thought process that even mind-boggles me. Apparently, today’s gloom is not as inspiring, because if it was, then I wouldn’t have woken up with terminal writer’s block, I’m sure.
I really didn’t do much today except come to terms with some of the pointless sh** I do. I love myself a lot, but sometimes I get on my last nerve. A week ago, I spent X on clothes, and I’m half-ashamed to say that one of my drawers is flooded with clothes that still have tags on them. Here’s where I get on my last nerve though: I’m going shopping tomorrow and already, my little heart beats with disgrace excitement.
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