It’s been a terrible day. In fact, it’s been a terrible week.
So I did what anyone would do: I googled ‘Amy Scott mugshots’ and reveled for a moment in the notion that, as bad as shit is right now, at least I’m not one of those Amy Scotts.
I started Retrobruxist Friday a year ago, and now I’m done. This was fun, but I don’t think I have more than one good post per week in the archives, so.
This last round is all good ones though:
Three years ago, I wrote a letter to my grandma, one heck of a woman.
Two years ago, I learned in a very difficult way exactly what fight-or-flight meant.
One year ago, I got mostly naked on the internet.
What you might have missed on Fat CrossFitter: I wrote what I thought was a funny story about how I became a stark-raving-mad, premenstrual mess who made histrionic mountain insults out of perfectly reasonable, helpful, and well-intentioned molehill comments, but it got interpreted by people I care about in a whole nother way, so I took down the post.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t write about people anymore—not my students because I’ll get fired, or people I know because I might hurt their feelings, or online dating prospects because I’m never putting myself through that bullshit again. So I think we all know what that means.
I should probably get another foster dog.
Comparatively (and by that I mean, at least we’re not in prison) happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.