The writer’s strike is ovah. Huzzah! Admittedly, I liked not having to turn on the old TV in the late evening to catch up with the plethora of shows the DVR recorded for that day. It was nice to have options between nothing and not that much to watch. I liked it. On the flip side (cliche warning! cliche warning!) variety is the spice of life. Reruns can be annoying. (But, hey, I can’t complain. I’m never home to watch the old television. See the reference to DVR. I’m strictly a late-night catcher-upper through and through). The good thing is that it’ll be a while before new episodes return, so I can still enjoy nothing and not that much to watch.
In other news, I need to turn up the juice on my creative writing. The journaling is excellent because it has catalyzed that desire to come up with stories and a few poems and so on–now, I need to take advantage of that desire and get to work.
Frederick Von Plant still lives. I am happy to announce this. His pluck and will to live is really quite inspiring. (But why am I constantly shocked that he still lives? Do I need to prove something to myself by his withering away? That I’m still the reigning queen of killing inanimate things? Have I become the femme fatale of the plant world?)
In temptation news, IHOP is giving away free pancakes today. I’ll be very careful. Although the images of me wedged in a booth with a bib and a syrup-soaked fork are quite intriguing and delectable, I must resist the dark side of the force. National Pancake Day, I rebuke you.
GirleyGirl out. (For now.)