Sigh.
A whole post about owls and woods and metal and you're all..."a single nother peep"???!?
Bridget, I thought you were a published author. It's 'another single peep'.
God. I could feel the condescension all but dripping off the emails but I had a laugh, wrung myself out, by now floating up to my ears in it, and pulled the plug on the room, washing it all down the drain. I rarely check my emails these days but I was waiting for something and so I read them, against my own best judgment, as I get tired of being told I'm a whore, that I'm going to hell, that I'm greedy and using people and dumb and soon to get 'what's coming to me', etc. etc.
Then the grammar police showed up. Thank heavens, because the others cut so deep but I tend to stay out of reach as it is. And my assistant blocks the worst and reports the very worst to the internet police or whomever needs to know. The Russians? Whatever.
(My assistant is Daniel.)
But yeah. It's a single nother peep. Because for me that's how it's ordered in my brain and I don't care if it's awkward, it's the way my mind does it and going back to edit my words later is sometimes something I can't get to. Sometimes it doesn't get fixed at all and I should try harder but sometimes...
Sometimes I just have to spill the words on the page and leave them there to pile up underneath the dead leaves and the moss and the pumpkin spice lattes and whatever's coming next. I've decided it's going to be good because I need it to be, regression and all.
She's a space cadet. Leave it. Important missions and all that. Lochlan isn't being unkind. In fact, he's the kindest of all, absolving me of my grammar tics and strangeness in one massive sweep. He is forgiving and gracious about it. He called me a space cadet once when I had my thoughts in the sky instead of in the present as required and instead of bursting into tears like he feared I would, instantly wishing he could take back the words he put down in anger, I took it as the single highest compliment he had ever given me. It's better than sweet, heavier than pretty, and more phenomenal than perfect to me.
What? He says, shocked. It's a name called. It's an insult, Bridgie.
No, it's a goal, Locket. If I start out as a cadet, eventually I'll be the Space General! And then everyone will HAVE to listen to me.
A whole post about owls and woods and metal and you're all..."a single nother peep"???!?
Bridget, I thought you were a published author. It's 'another single peep'.
God. I could feel the condescension all but dripping off the emails but I had a laugh, wrung myself out, by now floating up to my ears in it, and pulled the plug on the room, washing it all down the drain. I rarely check my emails these days but I was waiting for something and so I read them, against my own best judgment, as I get tired of being told I'm a whore, that I'm going to hell, that I'm greedy and using people and dumb and soon to get 'what's coming to me', etc. etc.
Then the grammar police showed up. Thank heavens, because the others cut so deep but I tend to stay out of reach as it is. And my assistant blocks the worst and reports the very worst to the internet police or whomever needs to know. The Russians? Whatever.
(My assistant is Daniel.)
But yeah. It's a single nother peep. Because for me that's how it's ordered in my brain and I don't care if it's awkward, it's the way my mind does it and going back to edit my words later is sometimes something I can't get to. Sometimes it doesn't get fixed at all and I should try harder but sometimes...
Sometimes I just have to spill the words on the page and leave them there to pile up underneath the dead leaves and the moss and the pumpkin spice lattes and whatever's coming next. I've decided it's going to be good because I need it to be, regression and all.
She's a space cadet. Leave it. Important missions and all that. Lochlan isn't being unkind. In fact, he's the kindest of all, absolving me of my grammar tics and strangeness in one massive sweep. He is forgiving and gracious about it. He called me a space cadet once when I had my thoughts in the sky instead of in the present as required and instead of bursting into tears like he feared I would, instantly wishing he could take back the words he put down in anger, I took it as the single highest compliment he had ever given me. It's better than sweet, heavier than pretty, and more phenomenal than perfect to me.
What? He says, shocked. It's a name called. It's an insult, Bridgie.
No, it's a goal, Locket. If I start out as a cadet, eventually I'll be the Space General! And then everyone will HAVE to listen to me.