more, more, more

Ok, so let's make a deal. I'll post more, you won't leave. Deal? Let's spit and shake on it. My grandpa used to actually spit on his hands before he lifted something heavy.

HD had a post recently about writing and doing it more and how she should. And how reading good things makes her

simultaneously like a brilliant writer and someone who attempts to describe magnificent events with words like “nice” and “um, nicer.”

As an aside can we just give it up for her, because that is fucking brilliant. Funny and true. And yes. I read all the time, anything I can get my hands on - good, bad, trashy, fiction, non-fiction, newspapers, magazines, signs. There must be a job somewhere for a Reader. That would be my ideal job, reading all the time. And snacking. Perfect. That was a digression. Anyway, reading good things makes me want to write, but also makes me want to run screaming, because what could even come close to some of the beautiful things that have already been written.

Anyway. I want to write more. Here. Not for any reason (I've no book ambitions, like other folks, who *should* have books, because then I can stay up late reading something good) just because I like to. November was harder and more fun than I expected, and it seems my intrinsic motivation is not so good, so I'll impose some sort of guidelines and some punishments if I fail. Punishments like public humiliation.

So I resolve to write 3 posts a week - kind of like my own personal NoBloWooHa. LB and Cali are nominated to hold me to it, as one lives close enough to kick my ass and the other will hustle up here to take one of my kidneys if I fuck up (and I'll still probably give her dinner). I'll be counting on protection from the rest of y'all if they come after me together.

Anything y'all want to hear about? More food posts, I promise. Fabulous details of having non-sexual objects up my hooha, I promise. Cat pictures, anecdotes about Sophie's tweener angst and greatness, love letters to Virginia - everything you've come to expect. I promise.

Meanwhile, good things and bad things: Share the love - here and here. It's the IVP all call - look up and you'll see our version of the bat signal. Yes, that's a vulva in the sky. Jenny and Ezra have ridden a rough road and have their tiny girl home with them now and Kim miscarried her long-time-coming boy on Saturday. At 11 fucking weeks. Fine, good things and hard and shitty things. Seems like I've written this post before.

I'm off the the RE tomorrow. Woo. CD3 blood work and u/s. So, yes, that was a stupid waste of a last ditch DIY cycle. But on the bright side, I had a nice glass of scotch with my weekly dose of the L-word.