Yes, we could spend paragraphs upon paragraphs waxing poetic about how much I phail as a blog writer...but no one wants that, not really. (ok, I don't want that, not really.)
I swear that I intend to write here. I do. Every day, I look at this page and I think, "What can I whine about next?" Face it, there's only so many years of "Augh why can't I WRITE?!" that people wanna hear. When I figure out how many years that is, I'll let you know.
Sadly, my no-writing streak is extending from my WIPs, to my blog, to my own still-not-up website. I think the Intrepid Auggy is about to strangle me. I mean really, all he's waiting on is for me to write some kind of bio thing. It's MY OWN LIFE! How can I not know what to write about it?!
Debating on whether or not to post a teaser tomorrow. Part of me thinks I should ban myself from it as punishment for not writing. The other part thinks that I'm an idiot.
This week is my ninth anniversary with the hubby. Nine years, and I haven't killed him yet, despite hitting him with a car twice. (pre-dating) Two years ago, on our anniversary, we sat at a restaurant, sans child, and dreamed up DD. The superstitious part of me is hoping that this year, we can sit at a restaurant, sans child, and hash out the problems I'm having with Son of DD. I guess I just like the symmetry of it.
Wish me luck!
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I remember that...the hashing out, not you hitting hubby with car.
Though I can't say I'm surprised by the latter.
I can't strangle you.
How can I get paid if I strangle you? Silly writers. Go have dinner with hubby. And don't run over him.
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