And Suddenly...

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

The Valentine's Day hype is gone.  I'm okay.  It's all over.

On a whim, my sister (who's living back with us) and I went to a bar Friday night.

That was a waste of a Friday night, I might add.

::cue British accent::

I could've been in bed with a hot cuppa and either a book or some re-runs of Sherlock.

::end British accent:: 

As it was, while my sister was flirting with the guy she'd planned to meet (thanks for making me the third wheel, sis), I people watched and downloaded a book on my Nook app on my phone and started reading.  It was a nice bar, though.  I'd go again.  Just not with my sister.  She got sloppy drunk, and I almost left her there.  I was aggravated about being made the third wheel.  Her scumbag could've brought her home--if he didn't murder her in a back alley first.  Anyway, I DID bring her home.  However, when I got home, I couldn't get her up.

So, I left her in my car, went inside, showered, and went to bed.

For future reference:  NEVER ask me to be your designated driver if you are a stupid drunk.  Still, lesson learned.

And now the next heavily commercialized holiday to prepare for is Easter!  Easter.  Easter.  Easter.  My favorite holiday.  Why?

Because I don't complain about it.  I always have or try to have something to write.

Easter.  Easter.  Easter.

Hollow chocolate bunnies.
Chocolate.  The GOOD chocolate.
Jesus stuff.
Sweet stuff.
Writing stuff.
I want to go to Crete one year for Easter.

I might actually get my godkids something.  I don't have to, and I may not, but it's not looked at askance in the wider family to give gifts on Easter, especially where godkids are concerned.

Easter.  Easter.  Easter.