can't think with all this noise

So.
I'll put on my headphones.
Music?
Optional.
Okay, not really--
Music is NEVER optional.
But, y'know...I meant all that matters is blocking out the other noises.
yeah.
I guess you probably "got" that.

We decorated our tree last night.
No, not our apple tree, smartass.
Our strangely un-religious winter holiday tree.
Have I told you lately how frigging cute my kids are????
Well, they are.
FRIGGING cute.
They were totally excited and funny, though.
But this is neither the time nor the place for that.
ha.

and now i have nothing to write.
I took some pictures today, but I don't really feel like posting them.
I hate to say it, but it might have something to do with a negative response I stumbled across.
And I should stress that it's only a small possibility that some stranger's insecure opinion would bother me.
It is somewhere in the back of my mind, though.
And that, combined with my extreme degrees of laziness, will make for a hard time getting pictures posted.
Mostly, I hate prudes.
I would tell them to all go fuck themselves, but y'know...
what would be the point?
They probably don't know how.

Smetimes I want to scream at people.
Just tell them to leave me the fuck alone.
But I don't.
Probably I should--
it would be "healthier".
psh.
Who's to say what's healthy???

Okay...
I just turned my music back on, and now I feel better.
...better, but in a sorta raging, happy-ish way.
I just want to spend my life describing things, telling stories, giving birth to characters and settings and endings.
Locked away in some ivory tower, with my muse.
My muse who would slide under my skin and make my fingers move.
My muse who would wrap me in his strong arms at night and fuck the writer's block out of me.
My muse who would take my hand and run across the dusty, shiny, cold, hot, wet, dry planet earth with me, on any and every adventure--
just so I would have things to write about.
How in the hell do I expect myself to come up with things to write about when I sit in my house all day every day???
okay, that was whiney.
I have a social life.
And I have some fun shit planned for this winter.
And maybe I'll even quit whining and start writing.
...but that would require taking a chance, making a commitment.
I did, however, get invited to join a writing group.
GULP.
That's the motivation/commitment that I need.
or want.
or should have.
or whatever.

I really love this song.
I don't much like Nickelback.
but.
this song.
is so hot.

I like your pants around your feet
I like the dirt that's on your knees
I like the way you still say 'please' while you're looking up at me
You're like my favorite damn disease

yeah.

and if someone could swing by and give me a neck/back massage,
there would be something sweet in it for you.
YES--I mean cookies.
god damn, you guys are obsessed with sex and how it might feel to be pressing me against a wall and feeling my mouth on yours and fumbling with belts and panting and groaning and...
huh?
what?
where was I?
oh yeah.
cookies.
i'll make you...
cookies.

Happy fucking Braless Tuesday.
and stay out of my way.
I'm a steamroller today.