I’ve had this shirt for years and never wore it. Why? I don’t know. It’s fucking perfect for me.
Honestly, that work day can go fuck itself.
I forgot to take a photo of Keith and I sitting under an umbrella on a patio, eating wings and chatting. So here’s a picture of the cliffs garden in the late evening sun instead.
I think I’d go a bit mad without this place to soothe me and wash away a crappy workday.
We rode our motorcycles to the island, where we ate fresh whitefish, explored, drank coffee, skipped stones, saw a faun, watched an osprey bring a fish to her three offspring, I swam, and had chips and dip for dinner. It was fucking perfect.
I wrote about it.
Or is just where blueberry juice and caustic interact?
But it’s outside, where the trees and blue sky are.
Screenshot of Chris’ reply after I decided what the hell and signed up for the Big One.
Yes it’s a lot of mobney. Hoping it will be worth it for the 9 months of help finally birthing this novel.
I would like to take this opportunity to remind myself that you get out of it what you put into it. It’s up to me.