I was reading some old blog posts this week (yes, I do that, like anyone would look back through a journal or diary) and wondering (yet again) what happened to my inspiration, my funny, my neurosis, f-words and emotional clutter. My latest theory is that I still have it all, I've just been keeping it to myself. So now I will share.
Rookie. I am a grown woman and I love this site because it makes me feel nostalgic for my younger self who loved Sassy magazine and "My So-Called Life" and pink Hello Kitty notebooks. It was founded by a 15-year-old style blogger. Swap out your plain shoelaces for ribbon or yarn.
A Beautiful Mess. The first time I've wanted to introduce a blog site to another blog site because I think they should know one another. Sabrina, meet Elsiecake. Elsiecake, Sabrina. You both inspire me to be more creative.
The Johnny Cash Project. A fine tribute to the man in black.
Doctor Who. Go ahead and laugh at the woman who said "I'm just not into sci-fi." I've laughed (because others were laughing, not because I got the joke) at "Trust me, I'm a doctor" out of the mouths of many friends in the past 15 years. Caught a few episodes from 2010 on BBC On Demand and now I'm hooked. And too old to care if you think I'm a nerd.
Pinterest. Sucked into the k-hole of pinning and re-pinning, liking and loving my Pinterest boards. They're like mood boards, but online and you can see your friends' boards. Join me?
As Simple as That. It's been a long time since I read a stranger's blog and wanted to smack myself for crushing my own creativity. Hannah Katy made me do that. Especially this post.
Other than that, I'm obsessed with getting from the south side to the north side of the city today without losing my sanity (an attendance record-breaking Austin City Limits Fest starts today and bad traffic has turned to primary highway parking lot). I'm obsessed with doing nothing this weekend except laundry. I have brain drain. I have allergies. I miss my dog when I'm at work. I finished A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan and it made me cry in three places and feel gut-wrenchingly nostalgic throughout. Still wondering what the female version of Peter Pan is because I don't know what to call my delayed adolescence (although my delayed adolescent "doesn't like labels") and I'm starting to feel like a babysitter for myself.
And if you could do me a small favor? Use the word "indeed" on a regular basis. It's a wonderful word and I fear that it could disappear from our language altogether. Indeed.