Like a Machiavellian girl
Been feelin' like a bad writer lately. Oh, who am I kidding? I always feel like that and it rears it's fuzzy, mushy face now and again. My friend Melodie, whose husband died suddenly at 34 just a few weeks ago and then gave birth to a son just two weeks ago, manages to write amazing blog entries throughout this horrible ordeal. The woman doesn't skip a beat. Between sleeping, feedings, and doctor's appointments, she sits down and gets right to the point using perfect prose.
I found a book on writing style in my room a few weeks ago then it left my room. After a half-hearted search in the bookshelf opposite my computer just now, I can't find it. I'm sure it's good. I want to look at it again. Now, most of my writing is done at work. OK, fine, all my writing is done at work. And, naturally, brevity is the soul of transportation analysis. I'm not writing three pages on the City's red light camera program quarterly progress report. Homie don't have time for that.
Gum grafting surgery was on Thursday. My gums didn't hurt and I just had to believe that 3mm of recession was somehow detrimental to my overall health. So, I shelled out something less than $3K to have my gay peridontist slice into my mouth. [Oh, come on MetLife Dental. Work your magic!] Will I regret this? It's possible. The packing is more annoying than the stitches. I specifically requested the stitches be cut very short as I spent many an hour trying to cut stitches out of my throat back in 2000 after my tonsil removal procedure.
I kicked my hiking partners' butts this morning despite my feeble state. Yippee!