what do you people want from me.

Me vs. well-meaning people.

Nice try.

start your december off right.

Poems read by Tom Hiddleston: Just click on this link and be thankful.

The dreamiest of the dream. The new simile for celestial glory is Tom's voice wrapped in his smile.

There is also a link on that page to download the tracks (19 in all) if you want to be like me and, er, listen to them while driving to work and be listening so intently you're suddenly going 35 mph on I-15. In the opposite direction of traffic. With your left blinker on since you left your house. Somehow.

just honestly, like...yeah.

So I just really feel more alive now that fall is here. The cloudiness, the woodsmoke in the air-ness, and such. It was off to a somewhat rocky start, admittedly. First of all, I chose the entirely wrong book (Dandelion Wine) to kick off fall, for which I blame myself because the title was so intriguing and I love Ray Bradbury. I couldn't just pick Cold Mountain or The Historian again like a normal fall-loving person. But things are going good now and after a little course correction I've abandoned Mr. Bradbury until summer is back in full swing and am reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. If I can't be in Savannah right now at least I can read about it. There's really not a second of all to this part...the book pretty much almost ruined it. Kind of like Clarence has music he only listens to during specific seasons of the year, I have books that I just don't feel right cracking open before their pre-ordained time.

But is it a little dramatic to say I quite figuratively feel dead in the summer? I'm not a heat person. We had a fling once before my junior year of high school but just didn't click. It kind of smelled like pretzel breath and burning plastic. So we parted ways. And I've never looked back.

I'm obviously over it.

Fall brings good things. Season 9 of Supernatural. Scarves. Men being more willing to grow beards (cue Martha Stewart saying, And that's a Good Thing and me and Cara are just like



Thanks, fall!) At the forefront of good things right now (yes, even ahead of beards) is a promotion and raise at work. Momma needs grad school money, son. Until Baby Precious is paid off in January though, I won't be going anywhere, so I'm content to chill and do my thang. Tomorrow is my first official meeting to discuss my new role. I plan on wearing my best businesswoman pantsuit and rollin' in like



Peace and blessings.

every night around 10:47 pm.

me: i'm gonna write

me:

me:

word document:

me:

me: slides out of chair

me: slides onto floor

me: cries

driving with mr. rhett.

~An actual conversation~

Scene: Rhett and I are riding in the backseat of the Jetta on the way to see Cubance's new house.

Rhett: :makes loud grunting sounds, labored breathing, more grunting:

Me: Dude, you poopin' or what?

Rhett: :looks me in the eye:



~End scene~

from one 26-year-old to another.

“It is sometimes so bitterly cold in the winter that one says, `The cold is too awful for me to care whether summer is coming or not; the harm outdoes the good.’ But with or without our approval, the severe weather does come to an end eventually and one fine morning the wind changes and there is the thaw. When I compare the state of the weather to our state of mind and our circumstances, subject to change and fluctuation like the weather, then I still have some hope that things may get better.”

—Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh in August 1879

man of steel: a synopsis.

:::spoiler alert:::

Visually astounding sci-fi sequence; parents send son to Earth with the genetic code of their race embodied within the lad. Or something. Debate over the peasants' acceptance of said son's abilities. Ship him out anyway because, like, plot progression and imploding planet.

Fast forward some-odd years later and son enters the scene with visually astounding abilities in the general bicep area.


Me and Cara:




Clarence:



Some minor stuff happened and then the movie pretty much ended and Cara and I just walked out of the theater like




Clarence:



He just can't take us anywhere.

We just can't take him anywhere.

this one goes out to cara.

When my co-workers come into my office laughing about the mess they've made and ask IR (my department) to clean it up:

winter music.

Among my many Scrooge-y traits is the fact that I don't like Christmas music--very rarely do I enjoy the overblown offerings that accompany the holiday season. Making the short list of things that I will listen to is Gustav Holst and...that's about all that comes to mind right now. Add to the list of approved music this playlist, and I'm thinking maybe I can stomach listening to "Mary, Did You Know?" at least once this year.

Or at least halfway through.
I do have my limits.