The Sunshine Award

I have been tagged by Writefury. Say hello to Writefury, everyone! She’s the amazing blogger who created the character Wolfgang Dankworth for her story Blank Mastermind, which you should read.

And now, the rules;

  • Thank the blogger who nominated you.
  • Answer their eleven questions.
  • Tag eleven people.
  • Give them eleven questions to answer.

So. Thanks Writefury! You’re awesome.

And now we will answer the questions.

  • What’s a humorous misconception you had when you were little?

This, believe it or not, is a hard question to answer. I did many embarrassing things when I was little. That would have been an easy question. Oh! I know. I used to think of platelets (you know, those little cells that clot your blood) as a cleanup crew of little men that were mopping the blood off my knees. (Yes, I have at least ten scars obvious scars on my knees, and hurt myself more often than that.) I used to think of them as wearing little white suits and having mops and buckets, and cleaning up my cuts. Hilarious? In hindsight, probably.

  • Favorite ice cream flavor?

All of them. No, really, I’ll take any. I like vanilla, mint chip is delicious, and if you’ve never had the Butterfingers blizzard at Dairy Queen, you’ve never lived.

  • If you could have any character over for dinner, who would it be and how would dinner go?

I have to choose one!? Only one? I don’t know. It would depend on my mood. Right now? Probably Anthony Victor Ingleford from Enemy Brothers. It would probably go really well. We’d probably end up talking about his brother Dym for a very long time.

  • Book you’re reading right now?

Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein. It’s ridiculously good. I was reading Ender’s Game  by Orson Scott Card too a while ago. It’s well-written but sort of depressing. I love Ender but I hate what Card did to him. Seriously, I’m an author, I understand about doing kind of mean stuff to characters, but I wanted to penalize Card and take his poor, innocent characters away from him. Ender’s Game is definitely an older kid’s book.

  • Favorite song right now?

Quite a few. “Brave” by Sarah Barielles. “Viva la vida” by Coldplay. “Science and Faith” by the Script. A couple others.

  • Song you’ve overplayed?

“The River flows in You,” by Yiruma.

  • Do you believe in Bigfoot?

I believe that anything’s possible.

  • What is your opinion on the ocean?

I’d love to live there. The ocean is beautiful. I’ve never gotten to see it, but I hope that I do sometime.

  • What little-kid thing do you like?

Their habit of telling the truth as they see it whatever the circumstances. It can be very awkward, but it’s also a great quality to tell the truth.

  • Favorite breed of dog?

Any of them. I love wolves, but mostly big dogs. Yeah.

  • And are you a sunshine? (Because I don’t know if you should be doing this tag if you’re not a sunshine…)

I guess I sort of am. The girls in my dance class claim I’m too nice. My older sister would definitely say so, if we weren’t in the middle of a fight. (Doesn’t happen too often, though.)

I Tag:

  1. Anyone who likes fruit smelling perfume.
  2. Anyone who is drinking coffee.
  3. Anyone whose name starts with ‘R’.
  4. Anyone who likes chocolate
  5. Anyone who is having tea.
  6. Anyone who is obsessed with tea.
  7. Anyone who likes lavender.
  8. Anyone who loves the season we are currently in.
  9. Anyone who thinks that the current political situation in America is ridiculous.
  10. Anyone who wants to!
  11. Anyone who sings You are my Sunshine in the shower.

My questions:

  1. Cake?
  2. What is your favorite thing to read?
  3. What do you consider yourself? Writer? Reader? Half-crazed college student?
  4. Day or Night?
  5. Disco or rap, if you had to choose to endure one?
  6. What’s your opinion on Baby Groot?
  7. Honey or sugar?
  8. What’s your favorite food?
  9. Favorite fruit?
  10. Do you have an opinion on star signs? (I don’t believe in them myself.)
  11. Do you know what an elliptical orbit means?

Have fun!

Freedom

I’ve read comments and tweets that suggest Marvel isn’t representing minorities. I am getting tired of hearing it, because they do. They represent an unrepresented minority.

They represent Catholics and Christians. Catholics are glossed over. Catholics are hated for their religion, and for their loyalty to the Pope. Christians and Catholics are labeled as hypocrites. I’m not saying that we’re perfect. Many of us have been or are hypocrites. But you can’t label us all as hypocrites. That’s like saying that every Muslim is a terrorist. It’s inaccurate, and cruel.

When did it become wrong for a Catholic to say “God have mercy on us,” or “Christ protect you”?

When did it become wrong for a Christian to say “I’ll pray for you”?

Muslims aren’t blamed for calling on Allah.

Why are Christians and Catholics blamed for calling on Christ?

I’m not saying that it’s wrong for Muslims to have respect. I’m saying it’s wrong for other religions not to have that same respect and recognition. Every man has a right to believe what they want. Religion should be a right, from conception to the grave.

Jews have a right to their religion. Muslims have a right to their religion. Christians have a right to their religion. Catholics have a right to their religion.

When anyone attacks someone else’s religious choices, it violates that right.

You have a right to believe that it’s perfectly alright to be gay. I have a right to respectfully disagree with you. I do not have a right to say you are going to hell, because I’m not God and I don’t make that call. I do not have a right to attack you, verbally or physically, for your opinion, but I do have a right to mine.

You have a right to believe that abortion is a choice. I have a right to respectfully disagree with you. I have a right to peacefully protest against contraception and abortion, just as you have a right to protest against Donald Trump if you want to.

I have a responsibility to stand up for what I believe in. You have the same responsibility.

I am tired of people saying that by disagreeing with them, I hate upon them. Did Jesus tell us to hate people? No. “Love your enemies.” I try. Every day, I try. It’s hard sometimes when those enemies hate me. But I try anyway. I don’t want to silence those who disagree with me. I don’t want to hurt them. It won’t change their opinion, and it just takes us farther from peace on earth.

Patriotism and kindness and love of neighbor has gone out of fashion, but just because it’s unpopular doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be represented. Marvel represents that. It represents atheists and Catholics. It represents conflicting opinions, and I think that’s beautiful.

I think it’s beautiful that humans were given speech to exchange opinions, beliefs and in my opinion, if you can accept conflicting opinions, it makes you a stronger person.

I disagree with one of my friends on political policies, but we’re still friends. It doesn’t make her a bad person. It simply makes her different. Differences are amazing. They can unite people just as well as similarities.

I have a Jewish friend, a Christian friend, an atheistic friend… It doesn’t mean I fault them for their beliefs. I pray God will bless them, because according to Catholic teaching, he loves everyone and blesses them, indiscriminately.

That’s what I’d love to see. A world where everyone loves. Where everyone agrees to disagree and shares opinions and doesn’t hate another person because said person is different.

Disagree with me, if you wish, but you will not silence me. I will disagree with you, peacefully, not because I hate you, but because I love you. Because I feel it is my responsibility to try to understand your point of view, and yet maintain my own.

I mean no disrespect to gay people, or to transgender people. These people are people, and I recognize this. They are not faceless animals for me to abuse verbally. They are people with faces and names and personalities and feelings and I respect that. I have the highest respect for them. I love them for the mere fact of their humanity.

I think it is hard for these people, and I recognize how cruel people of my own religion and other religions are to them. I recognize that this cruelty is wrong. I simply disagree with these people. I do not hate them. I believe in them. I believe that God believes in them. I believe that God loves them.

I do not want to force my religion upon you. I only wish to help people. My greatest ambition is to help and make someone’s life better. That’s all I want from life. If I die today, I want to be able to know that I have helped and brought someone closer to fulfilling their purpose in life. I want to love people, and to help other people love.

It’s a great goal for life, in my opinion. If I impress nothing else upon you, let me impress this; the first amendment prohibits the government from repressing your religion. Donald Trump would be impeached if he tried to hurt Muslims, because he cannot pass such a law.

The United States government recognized, even in it’s formative years, how important it is for people to have beliefs. I recognize it now. I recognize now that it is important to address this difference of opinion, and how, in this difficult time, it is necessary for someone to speak. If only ten people see this post, it will still change something. If a hundred do, I will start something.

Start something today. Make your beliefs known. Respectfully disagree with me if you wish. Hate me for my opinions if you must, but know that I do not hate you for yours. Know that I am writing this to represent the unrepresented.

God knows that we need it.

The United States is breaking apart because we are no longer united. We are disagreeing and hating and making trouble. We are blaming America for something that is our fault. We are not being responsible. We are acting as though we ourselves are the only ones with rights.

Did you read Johnny Tremain in high school? Do you remember that America was formed for the rights of people all over the world? Do you remember why we rebelled against England? We’ve lost that. We’ve forgotten why we fight, why we march, why we die. We die for freedom of speech, thought, and religion.

We do not fight for freedom of body, but for freedom of soul.

Repress me. Disagree with me. Hate me.

It does not change a thing. Believe what you wish, but do not chain other people’s souls. You cannot, and you have no right to do so. People are not trying to chain bodies. It would be easier if they were. If all we were trying to do was hurt the body, religions would grow ever stronger, beliefs more noble, but we aren’t.

Men are trying to destroy the soul.

Unite the states again. Believe again. Do something worth doing out of love rather than hatred.

Hatred only corrupts us. Love makes us better. Represent the unrepresented. Fight for the soul. Fight for peace.

Do something worth doing, and do it today.

God bless America.

Dreams.

Another poem. This one is depressing to start out with, but it gets better. It’s about how other people’s actions and choices can either bring us down or raise us up, and that there’s always someone for everyone. The girl does contemplate suicide a little, but I don’t think she ever really gets that close to committing it.


Dreams.

She believed in dreams, and stars.

So she reaches for the stars.

She reaches.

Five:

She falls and scrapes her knees and gets blood all over her nice new dress

And she reaches to Mommy for a hug.

Mommy shoves her away.

But she reaches.

Seven:

Mom gets a divorce.

Dad looks miserable, and he needs a hug.

So does she.

He drinks himself crazy.

But even when he hits her,

She reaches.

Ten:

Dad dies in a car accident.

Her Grandmother she’s never met comes for her.

Her Grandmother slaps her because she doesn’t cry.

And when Grandma doesn’t see her

She reaches for Dad.

She reaches.

Twelve:

The worst year yet.

A boy hurts her.

She doesn’t know what to do about it.

He leaves her bleeding on the roadside.

When the police come, she wants to die.

So she reaches

But not towards life this time.

Fourteen:

Her best friend’s funeral.

Her best friend’s mother tries to hug her.

But this time, she pulls away.

She walks down beside the cliff.

The sky is so beautiful she wants it to carry her away.

So she reaches.

Hands close around her waist right before she falls.

But she reaches.

Fifteen:

The boy who caught her seems to care.

It terrifies her, because every good dream she ever has

Dies.

Still,

For the dream

She reaches.

Sixteen:

He leaves.

Of course he leaves.

Everybody leaves.

But she reaches.

(She’s starting to wonder if that’s a good thing.)

Seventeen:

She isn’t scared of death anymore.

She has everything she needs to die.

But then

Mom dies.

She goes to Mom’s funeral.

And there’s a six year old boy there.

Reaching.

Grandma is SO mad.

Mom’s new husband isn’t keeping his son.

So she says she’ll take custody of him when she turns nineteen.

And she turns to him.

And she reaches.

This time, somebody reaches back.

Nineteen:

The apartment is tiny.

But she doesn’t care, because it’s full of colored pencil drawings

Muddy soccer shoes

Swim trophies

And laughter every evening.

College, work and caring for a seven year old boy

Overwhelms her life

But now she knows that dreams can come true.

Even better, she can make them come true.

She believes now.

And he believes too.

His sister, who he never met until a year ago

Is the fairy

Who makes dreams come true.

And hand in hand with a little boy

She reaches.

Twenty Three:

It was hard, but she graduates.

It’s the best feeling ever when her eleven year old buddy

Who’s headed for the Olympics by the looks of things

Is there to take her out for ice cream.

And there’s a boy there, at the ice cream parlor, a bit older than her

Who looks very oddly familiar.

He says her name.

And she remembers.

Hands on her waist.

Laughter

Smiles

And first dates.

She smiles at him.

Triumphantly, she introduces her brother.

The boy remembers seeing something about her brother in the papers

And her brother is immensely proud.

The boy asks if she’ll have dinner with him

Just for old time’s sake.

So she smiles.

And she reaches.

Twenty Seven:

White

Flowers

Perfume

Makeup

A fifteen year old boy giving away the bride.

Her brother laughs when she notices that somebody left a lipstick kiss on his face.

But she doesn’t comment except for a raised eyebrow

At the girl her brother brought today.

Her brother grins wider.

But she was fifteen then, too

When she first dated.

The same man she is marrying, in fact.

And, as they come up the aisle

She reaches.


I think this one is really pretty, but feel free to tell me any opinions in the comments!

God bless!

Just Maybe

This is a flash fiction piece I wrote. It was an experiment in second person. If you guys like it I can write a companion piece from Claudia’s second person POV. I edited it up, but it still might have a few errors, and for those I apologize.


You’ve never liked Amy. So, she’s your arguably best friend’s arguably (adopted but) favorite little sister, but you’ve never liked her.

She wears all sizes of clothes, mostly stuff that’s too big or too small. She’s unbelievably smart; the sort of kid who reads ten books a week every week and still keeps up with homework. She isn’t pushy and she’s always given you your space, unlike the cliché annoying little sisters. She isn’t annoyingly pretty or particularly girly, or anything else.

She’s quiet, and you don’t like her because you don’t understand a single thing about her. Of course, she is a girl and most girls are inexplicable, but then your best friend is a girl, and Claudia isn’t inexplicable. Shouldn’t her little sister play by the same rules?

And when the world goes to hell and you and Claudia get taken by guys in black masks, and both of you are stripped and whipped and thrown in separate cells, you don’t even think about Amy.

That is, until she walks into your cell, dragging a guard behind her, prison alarms going off, takes one look at you and whistles.

She spits out a jaded, unladylike curse word, and says, “Well, they’ve done a number on you. At least you’re wearing pants, if nothing else.”

You stare at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, genius.” She says, and hoists her sweater over her head. She’s wearing a flannel shirt that had to belong to a giant before it belonged to her underneath, but it turns out, huh, she is a girl under there. You hadn’t really noticed. She takes the sweater, unties you, gives you a mouthful of something not too terrible, and puts her sweater on you.

“Why are you rescuing me?” You ask dumbly, as she turns to best support your weight. (Turns out, torture is… torture.)

She grins at you rakishly. “You’re my older sister’s best friend. You do the math.”

She ruffles up your matted hair and you tell her you hate her like normal, but she’s grinning and you find yourself smiling back.

So maybe it’s the way whatever she gave you dulls the pain, or maybe it’s how comfy her sweater really is, or maybe it’s how nice she’s being, (or maybe, just maybe, It’s how she thrashes the living daylights out of those guards,) but maybe, you think, Amy might not be so bad after all.


Like it? Hate it? Is it a sin to humanity?

Did I miss some big glaring errors?
Feel free to tell me in the comments.

God bless!

Another Poem

To make everyone feel better after that terrible angst ball I dropped on you.

This one’s sort of really sweet.


She has angel wings, and he can’t believe no one’s noticed.

Their lives trace along the exact same lines, and she’s got angel wings.

They’re gold and red and black and silver and light

All twisted up together

And he’s Never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

So why can’t anyone see her wings?

He gapes the first time he sees her.

They think it’s because she is pretty, creamy tan skin and long lashes

And brown hair

And sweet mouth curling up like a crescent moon.

No it’s not.

She has wings.

He asks where in the world she got her wings, and she looks at him strange.

That’s the first time he realizes she doesn’t even know she’s got angel wings.

But when he apologizes,

With a sort of twinge because she does have wings,

She grins at him.

“I suppose there are stranger things in this world than angel wings.”

And they’re best friends.

And he knows she’s special.

And he knows she doesn’t believe it.

So he tries his hardest.

He does so much because his best friend is an angel, just doesn’t know it.

He does everything because of her.

(He thinks he might be in love with an angel.)

And she does so much because he thinks she’s an angel

And she knows she isn’t.

(She knows she’s in love with an angel.)

And they’re heroes.

But then

A little girl sees her,

And says

“You have the exact same wings as my best friend.”

Then she walks away.

And he feels like laughing, cause yeah,

She has angel wings, and he can’t believe no one noticed.


Like it? Hate it? Feel free to tell me in the comments!
God bless!

Chosen One

This is actually a poem I wrote just now about Chosen Ones, because they always tell people they are chosen, and I wondered what would happen to someone who never believed they were good enough for anything.

This is really sort of depressing, so trigger warning for depression, I guess.


they tell her she is the chosen one.

(Neither of the words is really so terrible, taken apart.)

One:

  • Being a single unit or thing
  • Being one in particular

Chosen:

  • One who is the object of choice or divine favor: An elect person.

(Together they have a different connotation altogether.)

They tell her she is the Chosen One.

Internally, she can’t stop laughing.

She?

The

One

Who

Is

Chosen

For

Divine

Purpose?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

She, the unnoticed, the uncared for?

She, the one no one really should want to care for?

It’s funny, when you think about it.

(Looking back, maybe she was screaming internally, not laughing.)

(SCREAMING.)

She, who deserves no one?

“It’ll be alright, I swear. I love you, my little Polestar.”

She’s always been alone, hasn’t she.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I’m so sorry, Polestar.”

She’s always meant to be alone, isn’t she.

They tell her she can be the greatest of heroes.

Hero: (?)

  • A mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability
  • An illustrious warrior
  • A person admired for achievements and noble qualities
  • One who shows great courage

Great courage?

[Either she’s internally laughing,

or she’s crying so hard she can’t tell the difference between internal and external.]

BUT

they need a hero and a chosen one and they need hope.

So

She extends her hand.

She smiles.

She says, “I’ll do my best.”

She does.

She does on battlefields.

(Blood, blood, blood,

There’s so much blood.)

She does in council meetings.

(Smiling at suggestions while screaming to someone for help, they just can’t hear her.)

And when her best friend dies

(red, red, red, rivers of red,)

she smiles at her best friend’s family and tells them she was proud to have known her.

(SHE WAS THE CHOSEN ONE, FOR GOD’S SAKE WHY DIDN’T SHE DIE instead?!)

They tell you the stories of heroes.

They tell you how great the chosen ones were.

What they don’t tell you is

They

Spread

Death

In their wake.

What they don’t tell you is

They

[Never]

Live happily ever after.

What they don’t tell you is

They

Scream

Till they can’t anymore

And do it again

(Againagainagain repeat.)

What they don’t tell you is

That chosen ones are poisonous.

And in the end

(that is really too much blood to lose and live)

All her friends left before her

And she is alone.

Alone.

Alone.

[And their names are all painted scarlet on the backs of her eyelids, because she sees them.

And it never ends because she should have died instead.

And it’s all her fault.]

(Always been her fault.)

So, in the end, she was [never] meant to be the Chosen One.

In the end, she was {not} a hero.

So when she dies

(maybe she was screaming internally all this time)

She’s (not) remembered.

And maybe it’s for the best.

they tell her she is the chosen one.

internally, she can’t stop laughing.


So… Yeah! The soul of cheerfulness, am I right?

*Goes and screams into a pillow.*

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, I’m really sorry.

God bless you guys. Feel free to tell me I’m a despicable person in the comments.

In reference to the Mind Palace

Because literally no one knows what a mind palace is unless they have watched Sherlock or read somebody else’s blog that deals with mind palaces, I’m going to introduce you to mine.

Basically, it’s a way of ordering your thoughts, but that’s the uncomplicated version.

I only wandered into mine a year or so ago myself. Mine is a Big House by the Sea with All the Windows Open. You can hear the waves rolling, and in winter time, it mixes with fire crackles for a lullaby unlike any other. My characters are there in person and in books on the ‘reference’ shelves, and my family and friends have their own section in the library.

The Mind Palace is great when you don’t want to worry about something. I put it in the ‘Problems’ chest, and it stays there until I actually need to worry about it.

My Mind Palace makes it easier to get to sleep. When I’ve got a song stuck in my head, I go into the music section of the Library, turn off the song that’s annoying me, and play another instead.

The way I go to sleep is that I clean my room. So, I image my innermost thoughts and emotions, worries and problems as my bedroom. When I’m just getting ready for bed, my room is a mess because it’s the end of the day. I go through my emotions and sort them into the ‘Tomorrow’ drawer, the ‘God help with this please’ drawer, the ‘later or never’ bookshelf, and then I put my family worries away too in whatever drawer they need to go in, and that way I remember to pray for my family as well.

I go down to the library and make sure all the character references get put away on the shelves, that Hooper, Molly, gets into the right location on the shelf, and that either she’s in somebody else’s mind palace, or that she’s found somewhere to sleep in mine. I do that for every one of the characters whose been visiting recently, and make sure my own characters are where they belong as well.

I say Goodnight to Arden and Brynn, to Tamar and Ned, and I get into bed up in my bedroom. Whatever I want to think about I can order from the library–if I want to think a little bit about a book, or if I need to go over a dance, and then they go back where they came from when I finally get to sleep.

This probably sounds really silly, but when you can’t get to sleep for worrying about things, it’s a really useful technique. When you can’t stop thinking, it puts away certain things and helps you categorize your plans for the morning as well.

Rant over.

Bye Guys!

Of Jane Austen

We finally remembered. Here at the Big House by the Sea, we pride ourselves on forgetting everything from meals to which character is named Darcy and which character is named D’Arcy. But the stars aligned, I saw that I had started a draft of this post, and Ned (one of my more useful characters in that he hates seeing people being lazy) insisted.

I promise to introduce you to all the new characters running around the mind palace. Later.

Just now, I was reading Jane Austen. I’ve read Emma and Persuasion, and Pride and Prejudice and North Hanger Abbey. I want to read her other stuff but with reading Great Expectations (why the Dickens would I want to do that?), Space Cadet by Heinlein, The Leviathan series by Scott Westerfeld, (Barking Spiders!) and other random stuff like Noel Streatfield, Mansfield, and other greats. Besides, I read Austen’s stuff for school next year anyway.

But, though everyone holds out on Austen’s supreme satirical-ness, they ignore something. Her use of humor. She gets boys. She just gets boys, including my family’s boys. She understands how funny and terrible at once it can be to have a boy teasing you, because once they start they never really stop. She also doesn’t sugar coat things.

Her heroines range from silly, preoccupied and selfish to innocent, happy and bewildered. She’s so honest that sometimes it hurts. Case in point; Emma. Emma was allowed to have her own way so long that she doesn’t just think she’s the center of the universe, but actually bloody believes it!

Catherine thinks too much, and too little. Elizabeth is prejudiced, and rather to ready to speak her own mind. Ann Eliot is well and truly alone while surrounded by people.

But all of them are relatable. Every single one of them.

Catherine is how they could have done Anna in Frozen. Both of them have locked up for four years with too many romance novels written all over them, but I could relate to Catherine, and laugh at her once in a while. Anna was a hard character for me. She was just too much sunshine and too many romance novels and too little to relate to. I do think Elsa thought herself to be the center of the universe too though, and needed a couple hugs, a few spankings, and a little more smart parenting.

To quote one of my characters, “Hating and blaming yourself for everything that happens is just a more artistic way of thinking you’re the center of the universe.”

That’s beside the point. All the characters, in one way or another, have faults, failings, and are such real people that I have always rather believed that if I hopped in a Time Machine, I could go to Pemberly, or meet Catherine Morland.

Austen doesn’t even do descriptions, which I find amazing. She doesn’t really go into where they are, or what they are doing there. She goes on about their conversations, their letters, their innermost thoughts, and scarcely ever details the position or what they are doing, or how they are doing it… Her style is amazing.

She doesn’t do the ‘exclaimed,’ ‘shouted,’ ‘looked down shyly.’ Her style is both show don’t tell and tell don’t show at once. (I don’t know how to say it better.)

She’ll reveal details important to the character, but only if it’s important to the character. She describes Pemberly because it’s important to Elizabeth. She describes Netherfield because it’s important to Mrs. Bennett. Other things she doesn’t tell.

She doesn’t tell you how many trees there were on either estate, or how easy to climb they would’ve been; she would have if she were writing about an eight year old Tomboy.

Anyway, I don’t have more time to write. Austen’s amazing.

Thanks for reading, have a great day, and God bless!

An Apology

Apolo was the Greek god of very many things, but he and the muses handled poetry. So, blame this thing on him. It’s an Apolo-gy.


“Coughs and sneezes spread diseases!”

My cheerful mother said.

“So cover your mouth and wash your hands

and eat your breakfast in bed.

No one will thank you for your germs

not though your wishes be amiable.

So lie on down and sleep a while

And don’t sit on the table!
(No. I don’t care how tired you are.)”

Now the moral of this story is

if it is Winter-time

You’re sure to get a case of something

(I don’t know how to rhyme.)

So if you miss a lot of things,

tell everyone on earth

that they must always wash their hands

and scrub for all they’re worth!


This is meant to explain how sick I’ve been. Since before Christmas, actually. I think I’m going to the doctor. Hopefully it’s the Doctor, not just a doctor.

Forgive my ramblings.

Have a nice day and God bless!