unruffling feathers.


I am sorry.

Sorry for what I said. Those sarcastic words were meant as self reflection.

Frustration for all the projects and ideas I am leaving by the wayside.

Exhaustion makes me difficult.

Sorry for not calling or writing. The task becomes insurmountable the longer left.

Sorry for saying I would do something, then falling short of expectations.

It’s just one of those kind of seasons.

there. that should about cover it.

Adding to the scatological….

a tiny book review


Miss Julie and other plays by August Strindberg

three thoughts:


*angry with his mother

*a dream play? for someone with limited sleep? no.

Don’t get me wrong. I did enjoy these. Although I feel like they would have gone down easier in, appropriately, August when one feels like the growing season is getting a little out of hand rather than in April, the beginning.


pop on over to 

Sense of Story

today for our book review of

Sarah Water’s 

The Nightwatch.



2 thoughts on “unruffling feathers.

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