Finding the Blessing in Beige

My first impulse is to apologize to you, dear reader, for not writing earlier.

But then I remind myself that I’m attempting to apologize less.

I’m writing this while standing at the countertop in our new kitchen (you never know where inspiration will strike – mine struck while unloading the dishwasher). Betsy is sniffing around, exploring every cabinet that I open, and often finding herself in sticky situations (she somehow got behind an open drawer, and I wasn’t really sure if she’d be able to get out).

Life is EXHAUSTING, y’all.

Don’t you feel that there are just periods of life where you stop and think, “I’m not sure I can handle much more.”

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I am the Next J.K. Rowling?

The “fun” in “funemployment” might just represent the constant explanations that one has to give to strangers.

Random person: “Where do you work?”
Me: “I’m unemployed, looking for a job.”
Random person: “Oh! What do you do?”
Me: “I’m a writer.”

Let’s pause for a moment and recognize that “writer” is a very general term. But unless I want to stuff “Imaformerjournalist,butnowIworkinmarketing,socialmediaandwebsitecontent” into a 10 second answer, people would just stare at me blankly and think to themselves, “Geez, chick, I didn’t want to hear your entire resume.”

So instead I say “writer,” which makes me sound like I live in a Hallmark movie, probably wear a lot of cable sweaters, and live in a cabin on the beach.

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We Finally Get a Boise Address

It has been one heck of a week.

Brad and I have spent about 12 hours together in the past 5 days, with me spending last weekend in Phoenix and him in Boise this week. A couple of those hours consisted of building a dam out of towels in our apartment. We were about to leave for the airport when it sounded as if the shower had turned itself on. Brad rushed into the bathroom and exclaimed that water was pouring from the ceiling.

titanic jack rose

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