Our four desks were pushed together for a Thanksgiving art project; we wrapped bits of Autumn-colored tissue paper around the end of No. 2 pencils, carefully dipped the wrapped end into the puddle of Elmer’s Glue squirted onto a scrap of construction paper, and placed the florette onto the the inside of the outline of a turkey. 1…2…3… Ten seconds for each one to dry and the process to start all over again.
What a perfect time for my 4th grade teacher to join us!
Conversation was breezy but quickly turned to talk of Christmas presents… Boy Student, “Can you believe that I believed in Santa Clause until I was in SECOND GRADE!” Laughter from the table… Laughter fades… MY TEACHER confides in the little group, “You guys, don’t laugh — I believed in Santa Clause until I was in FOURTH GRADE!”
Hmm, *I* believed in Santa Clause until that very moment. 🙠<–Frowny Face
OH, BUT WHY DOES LIFE HAVE TO BE SO PEPPERED WITH DISILLUSIONMENT??
Fast forward 33 years, DreamWorks Studios
just ordered 400 of THIS card.
Sooo, there’s that or whatever.
I’m assuming this little person was Trick-or-Treating… But I see no treat bag, nor do I see a 3-ring binder, NOR DO I SEE the latest issue of The Watchtower.
See how intense she is?
It only seemed appropriate that this card be printed first:
And I am here because I love the smell of flooded basements. 
Is that asbestos tile??
Don’t hurry home guys!
And *I* know it’s summer for other, more important, reasons.
But I’m trying to be a better person/less into body-sculpting, so I decided to read a book. It was written by 
Chapter 25 was especially fun to read because Madge is so near and dear to my heart and I could relate to the notion of elder-abuse.
Except my mom has made it very clear that she wants to be euthanized via pillow-suffocation, pre-elder-abuse.
but I have never really studied it…
And again…
I KNEW IT.
And EMTs had to come to that same dingy bedroom, on that very same night, because we thought my chest-tube had fallen out?
Choosing paint color is just like choosing ink color. But with less Jen and more anxiety.
Dinah told me later that she was plotting my murder while I took this photo.
Who needs pants when you have legs like that? Amiright??
Broken femur?
SERIOUSLY???