NaBloPoMo is tricky when everything is going well and you haven’t really left the house in a few days.
Do you care that a constellation has formed on my neck?
Do you care that a group of people on Facebook really angered me, and I did absolutely nothing about it?
Do you care that I found my journal from 2000? Do you want me to share some lines with you?
Wait. You do?! Well, okay then!
These are not in any type of order, and I refuse to provide context. Here goes.
It’s the equivalent to grabbing a burger with Jesus.
I’m not ready to wipe my rear with a stranger’s discarded Kleenex.
Jeff is moving to Nashville in a little over a week, and I need to remember how important communication is to a healthy gastrointestinal tract.
The drinking of Chardonnay reveals a lack of imagination.
My words are being twisted and molded like a soggy kneecap or a scrambled egg sitting on top of a pancake sausage sandwich.
I am swamped and bewildered.
Parker Posey doesn’t recognize the past tense.