Pre-consumerism Hell Day is, of course, a day of your choosing sometime in November when people begin the Christmas rubbish and happy warm-gut things and stuff and things. So that's happening. It's making me homesick and the wanting in my lower intestine to be with folks I miss is acting up in a uncomfortable sort of way. Dear Persons I Miss Who Are Not Reading This Blog and Will Never Know I Said This; I miss you. Wrap yourselves up in ribbons and trussing paper and send yourselves to me. I promise kisses and hugs and grins that manage, somehow, to curl themselves around my elvish ears.
I want to write love letters to so many people. My penning hand is tickling the smooth side of my favorite pen, the one that writes like silk and poetry and makes me want to sing everytime I use it. Boy Howdy. I need me some granola. Granola is my cure to all problems, stomach-ache? Granola. Head-ache? Granola. Broken heart? Granola. Just choose your pains.
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