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I read your journal, not because we're on the same part of the path or can directly relate, but because you're farking hilarious and a bit of god in my eyes: you've published something.
Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
My Latest Journal
I lurk because I'm a closet lurker, a lurker by trade, I'm a card carrying member of the Lurker's Union of North Alabama (LUNA for short), from a long line of hard working lurkers, and I like pandas (but who doesn't?).
What was the question?
If I just said LOL, I lied. Do or do not. There is no try.
I read you because you're funny, smart, geeky, and a fantastic storyteller, all of which are things I love in people. Also, you know how to write, and as someone who worked as an editor in the book world for a few years, that's a rare and wonderful thing. I don't care how big your ass is (except for how it makes you feel) and I'm sure you're not all that interested in the size of mine.
“If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.” --Audre Lorde
I read your journal (and blog) because I love what you do with words . Although I know all the words you use (ok, sometimes I'm happy for google translate ) but am unable to put them together in an awesome way like you (or naiadknight and some others) can.