turd.

I know I get kind of desperate around Halloween, but seriously, I hope those creative juices flow at least once before October, or I could end up like this:

Forever immortalized as poo...poor thing.

I know I didn't post on Friday, per usuale, so for you OCD people, I'm sorry I threw off your rhythm. You have no idea how hard it would have been to type with a huge chunk of my thumb missing. Because I cut it off with scissors while trying to shred a credit card. After soaking through three band-aids, my doctor-husband's response last night was, "Hmm. That's definitely the muscle you can see poking through there. Too bad it's too late to get stitches." THANKS, babe. The encouragement is stifling.

Sometimes I will get little treasures like this from a coworker in my inbox:

...which is cute, but c'mon now.
(ps - N, see that picture? that one right there? THAT is what I want for my birthday.)

Weekends when I am up for singing at Cornerstone are draining, and man if I didn't have my buddy Starbucks in one corner and of course the nasty-smelling but fantastically-effective Caudalie spray, I wouldn't make it through today. Really, no matter how nice I'm sure Mary Engelbreit is, I don't want her essence pervading my pores...and that's probably why it wakes me up. "what? quilting? dust? redheaded children?"