Life is Art

My life kind of swallowed me up just now. I'd like to write a bit about the camping trip - a trip where you get your rain-and-pine-needle soaked stuff cleaned up by the end of the weekend, yay! A chance to see friends you hadn't seen in months. A chance to learn what it's like to wash your hair and underarms at the public spigot (cold!). Running full-clothed into the ocean to join Sara only to hear my children crying out at my un-Mama-like behavior, my oldest wading in after me with her mouth open in an alarmed square and wailing, sure I'm to drown.

I am penning a new zine. I'll bet you are excited! No really, you are, perhaps you don't know it. Donations are accepted for a subscription - but if you want one and can't pay (or don't want to), I'll send it to you for free because I ruv roo!

And I've rediscovered an old album I had and I'm loving it dearly. One day I'll have some sort of stereo system and it won't sound so tinny as it does on my Mac.

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones

Labels: vacation, writing