Author
Look what gramma got us!
Guys, I’m a little bit uncertain about change, Ima be over here.
Arrrrr! I is Boudicca the bold brave queen of the climby thing!
For now, dear, for now.
Me and my conflict averse butt will be over here.
You’re not my real monkey aaaand you didn’t bring me a climby thing.
Homph!*
*Diphthong O’Malley courtesy of Kim and Jonny
Did somebody mail order a box of condensed evil?
That would be me.
By the floofing of my tail something wicked this way mail.
How about a box of goofball?
I can work with that too.
Excellent.
Call me Fishmeal!
Oh, ghods and monsters, he’s off again.
Serval ears ago – never mind how long prehensily
To be fair, he’s always off.
Says the cat carrying on a romance with a garden sculpture…
Having little or no money to parse, and noting particular interest in shore
Okay, you might have a point there.
Shuts I’z recitins!
Sadly, yes.
I thinked I’d sails about a little to see the whatevery parts of the world.
It’s like a train wreck, but without the cute bits.
Tis a way I haz of driving off the spleen—bad spleen, go wayz—
Also it regulates the circumcision.
I don’t think that word means what you think it means.
Whatvers. I finds self growing grime about the mouth in a…
damp, drizzly November of the soul
Okay, that’s it. You’re done. Everyone can go home now. Bye.
I have a bully who lives inside my head. He sits in the back of my brain and criticizes me.
He calls me names. Lazy. Fat. Talentless. Has-been. Sponge. Wannabe. Timid. Hack.
The bully comes and goes like most bullies, striking when he sees I’m weak or tired or when I’ve just had a setback.
The bully is incredibly clever. He knows just which words will hurt or scare me and when to use them.
My bully’s name is anxiety, or sometimes dysmorphia, or OCD. My bully lives in my head, but he is not me.
My bully is nothing more than a bit of errant biochemistry that got boosted along the way by various events in my life.
I can’t not hear him, but I don’t have to listen. I don’t have to treat what the bully says as if I were saying it.
My bully is no more me than my tendinitis or my allergies. He is something I have, not something I am.
When I remember that, when I separate the bully in my head from the me in my head it makes him weak and me strong.
I have a bully in my head. I can’t get him out and I can’t punch him in the nose, but I can deny him the power to call himself “me” and every time I do it is a victory.
Nothing. No reason. Why do people keep asking about “evil” plans?
Surely, you can’t be serious.*
She’s a tortie, we are always serious, and don’t call us Shirley.*
Really. That’s the line you’re going with?**
Define “evil”, because I’m a little hazy on the whole good/evil thing.
Imagine every atom in your body exploding outward at the speed of light.
No, silly, that’s good/bad.*
I’m bad, I’m bad come on. You know I’m bad!
And, with that communique from Planet Jeeves, we conclude our broadcast.
*Extra (super-adoptable) kitties via Tabby’s Catfe
**Except for this dude. Bob Meowerly got his forever home already.
So, yesterday was my birthday, which means I didn’t do anything that looked like work, including Monday Meows (hangs head in shame). I did however dig out and photograph all my old IDs from 7th grade on and post those on Facebook. Because, why not? Here they are again in space I control better, now with added captions. Hopefully you will find them moderately entertaining and not complain too bitterly about missing out on my infinitely more adorable cats for a week.
OMFSM, I was sooo leeeetle.
It’s possible I’ve never been good at mornings…
Holy puberty, Batman. (I grew 9 inches in 3 month over the summer)
Look, ma, I’m a belated hippie.
Screw that peace and love stuff, the time for revolution is now!
Paging Mr Rasputin…
My hair, it’s making a break for it!
Maybe if I lean a little to my right I can get out of this picture…
I think I will call my new look “pirate punk” (I’m wearing a sash)
Why yes, I did just drive 14 hours overnight to get here, why do you ask?
Screw it, I’m tired of my hair trying to live on its own.
Hey, I think I’m just going to quit aging now.
Yeah, that’s it, I’m done, aging is boring.
Why do people keep asking me about a picture in the attic?
That portrait is _really_ is starting to look a little tattered.*
Last three photos are taken in 2003, 2011, and 2019
Dis cat bed is kind of pointy and uncomfortable. I’z confuzzed.
I can’t believe he’s my brother.
Really?
Really.
Me and the evils I hang with are judging you.
Always remember dance like wherever you goes there you iz!
Adopted. I swear.
Our love is a sacred thing.
Pretty sure that’s a rock.
Nope. This is a rock. A big ‘un too.
I don’t thin there were any cats in that picture at all.
I’m calling a meeting of the Committee for Feline Domination.
Sorry, napping. Can’t come.
I smell betrayal.
Nope. Naps take precedence. It’s in the charter, dude.
Hey gurl…
No, dude. It’s, “hey girl…” in a completely non-awkward way, like this.
Yeah, that’s not awkward at _all_.
Nope. This. This is awkward.
So is this.
Yep. Totally awkward.
………..You got that right.
I see what you’re doing down there.
We weren’t doing nothing.
Sure, I believe you.
Do you believe them?
I think not.
I don’t even know what we’re supposed to have done…
Nothing. No Reason. Certainly not this.
Have you ever really looked at your wrists?
