I'll Prove I'm not Dead with a Couple Photos

I'm not dead and although I've been consistently depressing and morose here at Blogging is for Dorks and over at Studio Thirty Plus I also have been quite busy with the oh so very bright lights of my life.


Olive, this sweet little beast...



dropped my camera last month on concrete two seconds after this photo was taken...



and it shattered all over the ground in dozens of pieces.

Rosey, this dear little girl had four adult teeth removed one day and the stomach flu the next...

she is still pretty gorgeous regardless...

and she took this photo of me that my Mom says makes me look like I have a piggy nose...



Speaking of taking photos and my Momma, she took this photo of my baby sister in the patio of my childhood domicile. I love it...



Jeremiah channeled Luke and Max channeled Yoda...both pretty successfully...



...Elijah was Spiderman for Halloween and also obviously a freaking giant, he's half as tall as me...



and this girl who's name is Maxine Jane...



...makes me proud everyday not only with her consistently excellent straight A work at school but also with the fact she no longer shits her pants and throws fits that cause me physical harm in grocery stores...

Featured Post at Studio Thirty Plus

Although my blog is much, much less popular than the good old days (damn you work!) I still have a real life freelancing job and also still get the chance from time to time to write some fiction.

The Confusion of Betrayal is a short piece I wrote for Studio Thirty Plus and I'd like you to check it out and tell me what you think, if you have the time of course.

And my Keurig broke and they're sending me a new one but I have to wait three to seven days! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! French presses every day are a pain in the ass. A delicious pain in the ass though.

Sisters

They were an odd pair, the two of them. Familial circumstance had joined them in blood but their affections joined them in their hearts. And their hearts had been full.

She missed her sister. She cried at night, swallowing thick gobs of sadness with each deep breath.

She was old and weak. She didn't want to be alone anymore. She didn't want to gather the strength up each day to to pull her body out of bed.

She walked out into her yard with every inch of dignity she could muster in her flowered night gown. She fell to the ground and died with a violent spasm.

Her children mourned and her friends hoped they wouldn't die lying in their front yards dressed in an old pair of pajamas.

She walked with a proud, straight back for the first time in decades across her yard, not even stealing one glance at the sad lump in the distance behind her. She kept strong, quick strides up to the point of the vista in front of her and met her sister in a warm embrace.

They spoke no words and shed no tears. They held hands and walked into the abyss.