Placeholder

I know, I know. The blog is flatlining.

Don't worry, I'm not trapped under a rock or anything. Unless you count school, weekend classes, baby, work, freelance jobs (all of a sudden, too-- when it rains, it pours), and general living in the real world as being trapped under several rocks. In which case, I am, in fact, trapped under rocks. So send for help, or at least a Saint Bernard with a little mini-barrel of Whiskey strapped to his collar.

Oh, and who knew Massage School would be so much like regular school? As in tests and grades and homework and this whole you-have-to-work-at-it nonsense? And when did my sit-and-get-paid-part-time job turn into a you-have-a-ton-of-shit-to-do-and-only-thirty-hours-to-do-it job?

Flarbh. I ran into someone I know from college at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago, and she was all "oh, we should get together and have lunch" and while I'd love to catch up, I had to say something like, "Seriously, every minute of my life is scheduled right now." which sounded like total blow-off talk, but I really meant it. I have X amount of time to do Y thing. And if I miss my window, it isn't getting done. Again, Flarbh.

I've been making little scribbles in my little notebooks, so that when I have time to sit down and write a blog, for real, I can remember all of the reasons I hate Panera (Because, you know, fuck Panera) and more fantastic things about the bathroom at work. I know you're on pins and needles over it.

Until I can write a real one, here's a pic of the Bird, who is so close to walking it makes me want to throw up a little:

And this one: check out the preppy threads from Grandma.

Ok, and one more, because this one makes me want to board up the doors and windows and get back under the covers and never, ever leave my house again, for any reason:

(note the big girl jammies)