Hi. I’m Amy. I used to write here but then life happened and the world became a depressing toilet and I told myself I was creatively dead. But I tend to be overly dramatic sometimes, so I am also reminding myself that you can unclog a toilet with a little force and the right plunger.
I spent a lot of time thinking about what to write in this post and even I am surprised I went with that toilet thing.
I don’t know about anyone else, but the past year has not been my favorite. I’m not even talking just about politics. But if I were going to talk about politics, I would probably broach it with my usual level of sensitivity and thoughtfulness. Maybe like this.
Oh sweet mother. She still has that creepy doll and now she puts clothes on it.
The confusing thing about waking up to headlines that make you want to cry or build a bunker every morning is that you don’t know if you’re going through a mid-life crisis, or just suffering from 2017 Syndrome. Am I mess, or is the world a mess? Am I floundering in the same toilet bowl as everyone else, or is this just my personal toilet bowl? Where is all of this poop coming from?!?
So I am coping in the same way many others are doing, by overindulging in premature holiday décor, lights and music. Michael Buble all day. My tree is up and already shedding needles like it’s about to die a dry, fiery death. At this rate I may have to buy another tree by December 10th but honestly I think that might be a nice way to keep the momentum going. WHATEVER IT TAKES TO KEEP THINGS CHEERY AND FESTIVE, CLARK.
I was going to write about some other non-toilety things, but having not written for more than a year, this 384 word post feels akin to a novel. This must be how Hemingway felt. I need to draw the shades, pour myself some bourbon and take a nap.
Before I retire to my sleeping parlor, allow me to share this drawing of Creepy Baby dressed as Mrs Claus serving a tray of gingerbread cookies fresh from the oven.
You’re welcome, I’m sorry and Happy Holidays!! Wake me when it’s December.