seven sunday

Arlee is upstairs in the master bedroom looking out the window to the east where she can see the Christmas lights on the house of the guy on the next block over. She’s been barking her fool head off at them for an hour now. She’s done it the last three nights, and I assume she will until January or whenever dude shuts them down. (We’d stop her, but it gets too cold in that room if we close the door. The noise doesn’t bother me, but I’m the deafest one here, so.)

Addendum to my post-apocalyptic reading list: Galápagos, Kurt Vonnegut. I’m ashamed to have forgotten it. I read it in a single sitting, one of my favorite books ever. And thank you for your additions. I want to read them all, but I can’t just now. You understand.

That news about the Dakota pipeline feels good, though. When was the last time the good guys won anything? Let’s hope this bodes well for next year. There’s going to be so much to protest, it’s hard to know where to start. We should celebrate, and study this to see why it worked.

I need to stay in shape while not running, and there are machines at the gym which I am cleared to use because they don’t load my achilles much. But there’s 4″ of slush between here and there and it got dark at 3:00 and I’d have to be naked in front of other people and machines are awful and the beer fridge is here and just nope.

Maybe a concept album of songs about the end of the world is the way out of my writer’s block. Who wouldn’t want to hear that? Great music for digging mass graves.

I know people love snow and I’m trying super hard not to crap on anyone’s anything right now, so let me just say I didn’t personally need this today, and I want to be back in the desert so badly it is causing me actual, literal pain.

Thank you to those who checked in on me. I’m not OK, not even a little, but I’m not a danger to myself or others, and I’m still able to get through the functional mechanics of any given day. Hygiene, nutrition, parenting, earning. Please don’t ask for any more than that right now.

  1. I’ve reached the “literally dreaming of nuclear war” stage of grieving.
  2. On a scale of 45-55, what is the Mid-Life Crisis Index (MLCI) of buying a pointy headstocked, locking tremoloed Ibanez and trying to be Steve Vai?
  3. Being injured (achilles tendon strain) and stuck in boring, difficult rehab PT, frustrated and feeling trapped by being unable to run, has me rethinking my refusal to call myself a “runner.” I miss it a lot. Also: fat.
  4. The Jewish funeral tradition is so much better (kinder, earthier, realer) than what I’m used to. Still, I wish I wasn’t learning it all just now.
  5. In the time it has taken me to write the above four points, two more pornbots followed me. I’m comforted that even as the buildings fall and the oceans boil, some server in a hardened data center will still be trying to get my attention with perfectly hemispherical tiddies.
  6. I fell into a wikipedia hole and ended up at Patient S.M., and then found myself wishing we all had some slight-to-severe damage to our amygdalae.
  7. My lemon tree is about 3″ tall now. She may need a grow light to get through the next three months. As may I.
I want to make something very clear.

Even if Donald Trump wins. If any racist two-tooth having fuck thinks that this is the time for white people to rise up, band together, and claim what’s theirs; and try something with my black ass? They’re done. They’re getting fucked up seven ways till Sunday. This asshole making it this far had emboldened racist attacks throughout this country, 25% in California alone, and even if he wins, I ain’t ever letting one of those fucks laying their hands on me. They’re signing their hospital bill if they think their boy Donald getting elected means they can lay hands on my black body.

Sunday Seven
  1. I went shopping today. I bought undershirts, two ties, and some tea. Boring.
  2. I don’t have to work tomorrow. Sorry, @morethananaveragebitch. I get to stay home all day and worship the Tan Dump Lord. 
  3. I’m watching hockey and that means the Sabres (duh). And even though they’re playing the Blackhawks, the game is at home, and they’re coming off a shutout of the Blues (a-hem @slowturning). So there’s some hope. 
  4. Got some good stuff planned for Metal Monday tomorrow. 
  5. Ummm…seven is hard. 
  6. I watched Arrival yesterday. That’s 7 of 9 (Jeri Ryan!) of the Oscar Nominated Films. I might be able to watch Hacksaw Ridge when it’s released on Blu-Ray this week, but Manchester By the Sea is pretty much out of luck. Sorry, Casey Affleck (for so many things). 
  7. Oh, and I have serious bone to pick with you, Tumblrites. Why did no one tell me about Orphan Black?! You guided me to Stranger Things. And Sense8. And even Mozart in the Jungle. How could you have failed me this completely and not told me about how amazing this show is?

Sunday Seven

1) I worked enough last pay period that my paycheck was larger than when I made $9.50 more per hour, and I’m on track to do it again. I worked almost 8 hours yesterday, on top of my regular work week.

2) It’s a good thing, because we are still so far behind from when I was laid off after my heart attack. And the two kids in college is killing us, despite all the scholarships they got. Fingers crossed. So far they get to stay.

3) I slept in until 9:56 this morning. I know; I can’t believe it either.

4) I made Nick a sausage and egg muffin and coffee for breakfast, and made Sophia quesadillas. She actually requested corn instead of flour. I’m the only one in the family who prefers corn, so that tickled me for some reason.

5) I am finally cleaning my long neglected kitchen and listening to the Talking Heads.. There’s something soothing about doing dishes in hot soapy water, and the snowflake Pyrex dishes I thrifted years ago still make me happy.

6) Now I’m going to make tuna quesadillas for myself and watch British mysteries with Sophia. When she asks to hang out with me, I can’t say no.

7) I think I was tagged a few times, but I am so far behind on Tumblr, it’s ridiculous. I will try to catch up, but no promises. I miss your faces, your heartfelt words, and your witticisms.

The park is absolutely empty at seven o’clock on Sunday morning except for two people: a man and his very young daughter who is no more than six or seven. The man is teaching her a Greek dance. Side by side, arms held high in the air, slowly and carefully they do the formal steps together: leg crossing leg, slapping the knees, jumping in the air and shouting “Hopah!” at the end of the cycle. You can almost hear plinky bouzouki music playing in their background. The girl is very bad at it, very clumsy. She keeps stumbling but father catches her every time just before she falls. Righting herself, she squirms out of his hands and shouts “Again! Again!” Both of them immediately start dancing again, huge smiles on their faces.
How lucky I am to be there right at that moment to witness their joy.
—  Jonathan Carroll

i love aquaman because even though he’s been through pain and loss and changes, he always stays on his lane. he doesn’t live for the drama like other dudes. he tries not to get too involved if it’s not necessary. and ultimately? he doesn’t even have to be this cool. he’s in control of the oceans. he’s king of an underwater clan that can kick the rest of humanity seven ways to sunday dinner. he could drown us all. he could legit go Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) on all our asses and bring a starbucks underwater directly next to his throne. the people working there will be dead. should he care? no. he’ll just assign some atlanteans as new baristas. don’t fuck with him. let him live


People often tell you that you’re dense, don’t they? Even though you look sensitive, and pay attention to details… But you’re really rough, completely opposite from how you look. You do things the moment they come to mind. And what you end up doing is really amazing. On top of that… You’re quite frank, So your mouth moves before you think. And sometimes it’s things you don’t even really think seriously about. You say it and forget about it right away. That part of you… I love it.


Self Esteem Journal Printable

I know for some (including me), having high self esteem is a hard thing. So, I decided to make a self esteem journal printable! It is a daily journal, and the printable has seven (7) days- Sunday through Saturday. 


  • Daily chart with-
    • “I felt proud when…”
    • “Today I accomplished…”
    • “Something I did for someone…”
  • Weekly reflection with- 
    • “The best parts of this week were…”
    • “Something different I want to do next week is…”
    • “Overall this week was…” (Good | Okay | Bad)
    • A few lines to fill in whatever you want
  • Inspirational quote

I think this will be a good start for me, which is why I’m sharing it with all of you!

You can access the printable on Google Drive here.

Enjoy! x

Sunday Six

Or is it Sunday Seven?  How does this work?  Anyway, have some sentences from my current WIP.  You can thank @winds-wanderer, who won my @fandomtrumpshate auction.  XD  Got into quite a bidding war with @dasmondschaf, so I’ll be writing a fic for her too (that one will be Yuri on Ice).

“Isn’t that Hannibal Lecter’s car?”

The car beeped to indicate it was locked.  "Yeah, I guess so.“  Will walked away, toward the building, Beverly on his heels.  "I needed a new car.”

“So you bought the cannibal car?

Will hunched his shoulders and walked faster.  "It was cheap.“

some sunday fluff that is maybe about a toothbrush

set sometime in season seven and ignoring the fact that maybe mulder is dying??, because I can’t write any more sad things, especially when it’s so nice outside. :) 

There are two toothbrushes in the bathroom.

As always, Scully’s red toothbrush is propped up on the spotlessly clean toothpaste holder. (Does she wipe that thing off every day? His is always coated in layers of toothpaste residue that never really come off, no matter how hard he scrubs.) This is normal.

But the extra toothbrush lying on the bathroom counter - a bright green Oral-B, size medium, still in its packaging - that is new.

Mulder sticks his head out the bathroom door. “Hey Scully,” he calls. “Is this for me?”

She reappears from around the corner, now wearing her bathrobe over her pajamas. It’s untied and much too big for her. She is powerfully adorable. He waves the toothbrush toward her for inspection. “For me?” he repeats.

When she nods, a wordless grin spreads over his face. They’ve been sleeping together for months, and she’s so far resisted his attempts to encroach any further on her life - clothing left behind is returned to him, neatly folded (with the exception of one missing Knicks t-shirt); he is the frequent recipient of messages that say things like “you left your phone charger at my place” or “you forgot your glasses”, as though either of them believe it was an accident.

So far all he’s managed is the stolen t-shirt (he wants that back, someday, after she’s worn it enough that it smells like her) and an Oxford coffee mug he slipped in the back of a cabinet, high enough up that she can’t reach without standing on a chair. That’s probably cheating, but really, this is all her fault. He wouldn’t have to resort to such extreme measures if she would just be reasonable and give him a drawer.

Keep reading

WHO TO FIGHT,acotar edition

Feyre: first thing first why would you. The girl went through hell and back, she just wants to be with her mate and her loved ones and paint. But either way, SHE’LL KICK YOUR ASS SEVEN WAYS TO SUNDAY, BUCKLE UP MOTHERFUCKER.

Rhysand: There’s exactly zero chance you’ll win, but the fact that you want to fight this bby bat says a lot of you as a person.Look at your life, look at your choices.


Mor: you aren’t going to win, nope, but you can try if you really want to die and have a shadowsinger full of fury at your heels.

Azriel: why? This dude is like the nicest person ever, he’s just minding his own bussiness and looking at mor. If you want to know the thrill of torture, go ahead.

Cassian: you wont have the time to fight him cause hell fight you first. He’ll kick your ass, he’ll laugh about it and probably cook for you after. Fight him, he’ll kick you up and down but do it, if only for the stew.

Nesta: nope. not a good idea at all. There are more pleasurable ways to die, why suffer so much? DO NOT FIGHT HER, SHE’LL MAKE YOU REGRET THE DAY YOU WERE BORN ONLY WITH HER WORDS, DO NOT.

Elain: she will problably make you tea and make you see her gardens and you’ll like her too much to do anything at all to her. Water the plants while youre at it.


Lucien: you literally are a monster. fight him and ill bite you.

“where’s y/n justin?” fans ask wondering where justins girlfriend had vanished to, not knowing you were in the car after justin had fucked you seven shades of Sunday in the hotel that you’d previously stayed in.

“oh guys, she’s right here but please be quiet she’s really tired,” his secret smile tones brightens up “her legs were up for some work,” he strokes thigh “and her drenched kitten” he mumbles quietly so no one but him could hear it.