I read a book a couple weeks ago. I know, right? How stoked am I to be reading books?! This book had a title and the title was … hold on, I want to get this right.
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I read a book a couple weeks ago. I know, right? How stoked am I to be reading books?! This book had a title and the title was … hold on, I want to get this right.
Well, I’ve done it. I’ve been bouncing back and forth and around the horn and through again between and upside out with these templates.
If my calculations are correct, it’s just about 7:30 p.m. EST on this current year’s 4th of America. That means it’s still light outside because, you know, farmers require their ever-lovin’ sunshine to sow their night crops of barley, hay, and thyme. Or something. I forget how most things, including Daylight Savings Time and a well-balanced mentality, work.
Well, now what?
I’m sitting in a haze of post-published, euphoric loss. I feel like I’ve had to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends. I gave him up to the world and now he doesn’t write me anymore. Wait, Marcus may be a storyteller but he’s not a writer. I don’t think.
Routine. Routine. Routine. It goes on and on. Everyday you make the doughnuts or do whatever it is that you do. For me, I wake up next to the boy. Usually he’s crawling all over me by 6:00 and I submit to morning.