I have turned 35, purchased a house with my husband, and become quarantined. Not breaking news because we are all fucking quarantined. And all of my “fun activities” have worn off their shine.

Breaking down Milton’s Paradise Lost has come to a halt just as Satan left Hell.

I returned to a painting I was working on and ruined it.

Find a place to submit writing.

Packing about two boxes every other day for the move.

Oh yeah, showering is no longer an everyday occurrence. Granted I’m still not leaving the house dirty.  

Oh and I’m trying to piss a stone out. I think I’m on the third or fourth week of that.

Bllleeeeeerrrrrppppp…EDIT* (keeping it light, not about politics, also a special Easter message)

You’re not going to heaven
Eat a thousand crackers
Sing a million hymns
None of you are going to heaven
You’re not my children
You’re a bad game of Sims

You argue and you bicker and you fight
Atheists and Catholics, Jews and Hindus argue day and night
Over what they think is true
But no one entertains the thought that maybe God does not believe in you

You pray so badly for heaven
Knowing any day might be the day that you die
But maybe life on earth could be heaven
Doesn’t just the thought of it make it worth a try?

Thank you Bo Burnham for being amazing even though I have the sinking feeling you will avoid comedy again for the rest of your life because you think its trash that you were forced to pump out but fans will miss it real bad.

Write hard and clear about what hurts- Earnest Hemingway

And remember, always write your villain first.

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