skeleton me

months months months since I have written anything here, or anything anywhere it feels like (though it is not entirely true).

Of late, I’ve been reading lotsa books by clever often funny ladies writing about their lives…

  1. You’ll Grow Out of It by Jessi Klein
  2. Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo by Amy Schumer
  3. Shrill by Lindy West*
  4. Sex Object by Jessica Valenti
  5. My Life on the Road by Jessica Steinem

I am less clever and not as funny but I am a LADY and why don’t I write about my life? I have a passing fancy to use this space as a kind of memory catalogue. Capture the stuff before my addled brain drops more memories.

I’ve started using my Overpriced But Fucking Gorgeous Rifle dayplanner as a kind of insta-journal with tiny notes about days and drawings of grey clouds raining when weeks are terrrrrible (and by terrible I mean stressful or frustrating — not actual human suffering level terrible). I like the practice; I feel like at the end of the year I’ll actually have some record to look back on and be like, Oh yeah me and Erin did watch 1,000 videos of Kate McKinnon being amazingly hilarious, I should do that again.

*blogging break to watch Solange*

So, so what. Maybe I will start posting here again. Maybe I will get my act together and start doing (some of) the stuff I dream about doing, be it small medium large extra large extra tiny.

Feels like it’s a weird year, a weird time for me — gonna capture it, remember it THOSE ARE TAYLOR SWIFT LYRICS my brain just substituted TS lyrics for original thought. Fuck what critical memory was dumped so I would recall the lyrics to fearless?

Blerk, as my sister says.

*Shrill was my fave of these 5, in case you were likeΒ is this list in order of liking?Β nope.

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