Today, my dad got the things needed to make toothpick food. Basically just a lot of deli meats and cheese. Not really that important, actually.

Getting on with it, though: we have some ham in our refrigerator. A lot of ham, or a little ham, I haven't thought to check because I haven't been hungry. He said that we should just throw it out, and I said no, you shouldn't waste perfectly good food.

The reason why this is funny - or just snarky, or hypocritical if you like - is because whenever I  want to throw out perfectly good food I get the same lecture. But when someone else, because god forbid someone else want to throw away fine food, I go off on a normally very short tangent.

"There are starving children in- no, there are starving hobos downtown!"

One time, my mom took me for a drive downtown. I saw a hobo. I cried. I marveled at the architecture while I cried. It was hard to do because one: I couldn't see because I was kind of, you know, crying, and two: because we were in a car and I was trying to make it look like I wasn't crying although it was obvious.

Compare this to the time when I went to CVS with my mom, and she told me that someone I used to know died. I didn't know he was dead. I was crushed. So I cried forever then, too. And I made her go into CVS to buy me tissues.

And then we had to go back in and buy other things.

How wasting food evolved into the many times I have cried in cars, I do not know.

But now you know, so maybe you can tell me.

Maybe.

ALSO.

I had a dream about the end of the world. Obviously, it did not end well. But there was this random pig giving birth throughout it.

I... don't know. My dreams are disturbing.

It's becoming evident that he landed in excrement, but never fear cause Minty's here to make Christmas excellent!

'The end'

I've always found those words haunting, even if the movie-book-video game ends on a happy, lyrical note.

So I've avoided it in my own writing, dutifully pushing it further and further away until it's nothing more than a nonsensical uttering by grumpy old men or terrible play writes. The thing is: it isn't a nonsensical thing. Everything has to come to an end, whether it be a full stop, a slow, slow dribbling, a slick and sliding end, or just an entirely vague one.

I feel sick to my stomach, dread I suppose, now that I've written my end.

Done. Over with. Unimportant, so stop trying to sob over it and go away already. But I can't just walk away from something I spent fifty-three days on, can I? Fifty-three days. Doesn't sound like long, does it? Apparently it's just long enough to write a 116,051 word novel with an ending.

A brief, sorrowful and joyful ending (mainly because the main character can't stop crying and laughing at the same time) but it's an ending and we all know how important those are, don't we? Whether it's your life's end, your story book's end, or just an end, it all happens.

And it's happened to me, now, and I'm very unhappy that it did. You see, it was never meant to really end. But it got out of my grasp and took it's own mind out on a stroll, completely disregarding my once sensible plot. It dragged my secondary but main character away, taking him on a wild adventure to... well, somewhere, and it skipped ahead. Seven years, in fact.

I've never ended a story before.

It just isn't done in my mind.

But I have now.

I think I said this before.

So, I think I'll go have a nice little cry and start on my next one.

I'll tell you how it starts:

"I caught the farmhand praying last night. Lord only knows why."

Yeah.

I'll definitely get myself caught up in that.

We're Going Till The World Stops Turning While We Burn It To The Ground Tonight

JUST TO LET YOU KNOW,

I am on the brink of 100,000 words. 98,630.
I can so totally do this today.

just so you know of my accomplishment.

what is this ' editing ' you speak of?
it is foreign to me.

Anyway, I got my 100,000!

The word was 'clawing'.

Silly birds and their talon things.

And I, I, I Won't Stop Until I'm Done, Done, Done

Do you have any idea how cold it is here? I'm going to guess that you don't, since you kind of don't live here... but anyway, it's 17 degrees Fahrenheit (I feel accomplished whenever I find that I can spell that word without a spell check) but it feels like 3 degrees.
DO YOU HEAR ME?
THREE.

Snow just does that to you. It's like the ultimate betrayal.

THE SUN IS SHINING.
THE SNOW IS BLINDING.
AND IF YOU GO OUTSIDE, YOU ARE GUARANTEED TO FREEZE TO DEATH.

Now, given the choices of either,

a( Writing a blog post
or
b( Writing the rest of my novel

I would like to say a, but it's actually b, so that's why I haven't posted in... a lot of days.

BUT HEY, I HAVE A BACK COVER. SO YOU CAN, Y'KNOW, LOOK AT IT.

Once again made by the wonderful FENA.
pheeena.

and i made cookies.
and i watched vladimir putin sing in both russian and english
and i think i have an odd fixation on vladimir putin

I Say My, My, My, My Slow Descent Into Alcoholism It Went

What is this... this ' blogging ' thing you speak of? I have never heard of it.

My gosh, technology is so advanced!

I feel dumb now. Anyway, I have not posted for... forever because I've been busy having my soul sucked out by this monster:

WHAT IS THAT?
IT'S A COVER.
MY GOD.

Made by the wonderful Fena. IT'S A THING. OH WOW.
Why do I even have a cover anyway? It's all so confusing. But it's there! How nice! I like things that are there!

Nothing I say makes sense. I'm sorry.

I want to make these today. I have yet to beg my mother. But I could probably make them myself.

It was dad's birthday yesterday. We tried to burn the house down.
It didn't work.

I should be writing.
I don't want to.
I am a soulless husk without a purpose.


80,000 words in 30 days can do that to you.

until next time, when I may or may not be funny again.


wait what.
It's like... the day after? And I got to make meringues yesterday? HOLY.
They tasted like pumpkin pie.

And my eyeball is going to detach so if you'll excuse me... I'll just exit stage right.