Stories and The Like

Let me start by saying that I had the best intentions for the past few days. I was going to make cookies, butterscotch ones to be precise, and clean out my basement, and clear out some of the ridiculous amounts of  glasses in our cupboards to fit in our tupperware which has been sitting on a chair in the kitchen in the box it came in while we use it, and tidy up the living room so there aren't random stacks of papers hanging around on coffee tables, basically I wanted to declutter my apartment.

Then yesterday hanging out with mom her Jeep broke down and I didn't get home till like 7, and I watched True Romance, ate Spaghettios, and got sleepy then went to bed. Today I got home from work and hung out with mom again, then I came home and fully intended to make the butterscotch cookies, cause I definitely wasn't going to get to the basement, and then discovered that I had no butter. So... still no cookies.

Yesterday was Ray Bradbury's birthday. He would've been 92. I was feeling really bold and inspired and I was going to post one of my short stories here, to commemorate what a remarkable summer this has been so far for me. Someone I felt very close to and who made me feel welcome in my own brain passed away, and a little more than a month later someone I hope I always feel very close to and who makes me feel welcome not just in my own brain but in my body and soul celebrated a year of marriage with me. I've slowly begun clawing my way out of overwhelming debt. I haven't gotten a new job yet but they are still interested (they'll supposedly be calling me in the next few weeks for yet another interview). Jeremy got a new car. I colored my hair for the first time in years, and I actually went lighter for the first time ever. I climbed into my house through a bathroom window (that was awesome for me.). So on and so forth.

Then of course I started thinking about it and decided not to post anything as I am every fearful of what people will think of my work. I'm worried they'll think it's awful but not tell me that, and sometimes just as bad is the concern that they'll think it's awful and tell me it is. Or they'll have no response at all. So I figured it would be easier to not take the chance. Because I am a total pussy. Maybe some other time.