368

I made a promise to myself that I would have something published by the time I was 40.  That clock just keeps tick, tick, ticking away.  I find myself creating excuses instead of words.  I can blame everything else (work, self-employment, kids, husband, house, sunshine, rain, migraines, James Bond, carpal tunnel, volunteer hours, meetings, teaching, bills, the baggage retrieval system at Heathrow), but deep down, it's just me.  If I'm truly serious about this, it's time to stop dicking around.  I have 368 days left to prove something to myself.  I need to get out of my own way and get it done.

How I Feel Watching Game of Thrones with Tim (who actually read the books and knows what's going to happen)

Me: Who kills King Joffrey?
Tim: What do you mean?
M: In the end.  Is it Robb?  Stanus?  Who?
T: No one.  No one kills King Joffrey.  He lives.
M: He wins?!?  Jesus, Tim, what'd you make me watch this for?
T: I think we'd better stop.  You're taking this very seriously.
M:  No.  I'm OK. I'll finish watching.

Old meme; new twist

She doesn't believe marshmalows are a main dish.
She'll make you put away your bike after every ride.
She'll make you eat what you asked for, even if you don't want it anymore.

She is...
The Meanest Mommy in the World