Still Not Writing

So, as you can probably gather from the title of this blog, I haven’t suddenly converted to writing this month. Looking back on the past couple of weeks, there honestly wouldn’t have even been any time to write.

But I haven’t been wasting my days away. I got older last week. I’ve reached the big quarter of a century mark and I barreled through it with pride. I cooked dinner for friends. It turned out a bit bland, which means I loved it and all of my friends suffered through it. I dyed my hair. I punched more holes in my ear.

It turned out to be one of my better birthday celebrations. It was fairly low-key, but that suits my style just fine.

So while everyone else here was slaving away in front of a computer, I was eating homemade cupcakes and drinking a glass of wine… or two. And that was just Thursday.

Sometimes it really is good to be me.

At the age of six, Eliza was certain of two things. The first was that she had stories to tell. The second was that she had no talent for illustrating them herself. Talent or no, she still wrote and illustrated her first book, one that should be located and locked away if only to prevent her parents from embarrassing her terribly by showing it off alongside baby pictures. Now she spends her days writing stories that she isn't embarrassed to show off after a little bit of polishing.

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