These Three Things, Two

These three things, they randomly are.
Written quick, read by those afar.
Drivel, pointless; thoughts, disjointed.
Very low blogging bar… 

Welcome to a random day when my brain is all WHAT? And when that happens, it’s all like, “Share this with the people!” (This happened in February and is happening again. You’re welcome.)

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Friday Fhoughts: Folume Four

Friday Fhoughts - BlackI’m all, “I have stories to share. Should I do that?” Or “But my mind is all random-y, too, so should I do that?” Or BOTH?

*faints*

Smile face on the keyboard in the photo whispers, “Be the happy smiley on the keyboard. Just write!”

And so, without further ado, I present:

FRIDAY FHOUGHTS, FOLUME FOUR

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Friday Fhoughts

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Thanks, Pixabay, for the pic!

A few random Friday thoughts:

Goldfish crackers (the snack that smiles back) are tasty. (Pardon my chewing.)

The month is coming to an end and I hope the weather swings do, too. Today: sweater, but no socks. Socks in bag, just in case. Sweater will probably come off by afternoon. It’s like being in a stage production featuring a zillion quick changes. At least winter is cold and summer is hot. I can plan for consistent temps.

I don’t know who’s liking all the Viggo Mortensen so that it’s showing up in my Pinterest feed, but thanks!

The shoes I ordered online are on their way. Note to shoemakers: Simply slapping a strap across a pump does not make it a Mary Jane.

I have this phrase I use (mostly at work) — if something’s really someone else’s responsibility, just volley that ball back. Note: At this point, my backhand could give Martina Navratilova in her prime a run for her money.

My introvert card may be revoked, or at least have an asterisk added next to the part that says (used to say?) “Extremely Introverted.” Last night, I said, “Taking a class — yeah, I think in person is better than online. Part of the fun is meeting new people.” WHO AM I?

This week, after returning from an awesome class that had me high on life, someone started talking about a President Orange speech. “Don’t,” I said. “You’ll ruin my buzz.”

My new tambourines have arrived. I shall keep the jingly beat at choir. I can’t wait.

I shall leave you with a pretty song, sans tambourine solo, that our choir is singing. Our conductor, though, doesn’t look like He-Man.

 

Happy, peaceful weekend, people.

Breathe and reboot (ad nauseum)

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Breathe and reboot, take 1,000. *claps*

I’ve so done this before. The thing about life, though — similar things keep happening and you have to handle them. So I breathe and reboot, take 1,000. *clapboard claps*

I’ve held my tongue. I’ve kept my mouth shut. Until the past few weeks.

Bits and pieces came out, then a deluge of truth I could no longer keep to myself. It’s a good thing I like solitude, because once you tell people what’s really going on, they often don’t want to spend time with you after that.

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Retreating myself well

I have the doors, but I haven’t written about the doors, so I’ll write about them for Thursday Doors for next week. I’z all curfubbled (NOT A WORD UNTIL NOW!) today since today began with me, in a half-sleepy stupor, wondering if it was a day I had to go to work. I came to consciousness just enough to mutter Expletive….. it’s only Thursday…. This week has been jammed packed with enough week to have it be over already; alas, there’s one more day to go. To get myself through, I’ve spent this afternoon looking forward, and I came up with a new thing I’m gonna do, just for me.

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Thursday Doors: Closed

I’m coming out of a fog into a haze of snow. I’m psychologically and emotionally spent, and I’m merely adjacent to the turmoil around me. That’s not 100 percent true — I knew her, too — not deeply, but enough to be disturbed by the news, let alone the aftermath of the little bit that has fallen to me to deal with. Four days ago, my boss’s wife died unexpectedly. The door on her life is closed. Continue reading →

A to Z: On the Dark Side

“What I want is songs that echo. The stuff we’re doing now is like somebody’s bed sheets: spread ’em out, soil ’em, ship ’em out to laundry, you know? But our songs…I want us to be able to fold ourselves up in them forever… understand? That’s the most you’ll ever get out of me Wordman. Ever.”

~Eddie Wilson

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