In an attempt to get writing again, I've decided that I need to stop aiming high. In fact, I am just going to let my literary expectations join my dirty laundry and my pride down there on the floor, hidden behind the bed so I can't see them and feel guilty. This way, I can write and post and not look back. It'll be very liberating.
So in that vein, here's my blot for the day:
Did you know that the under five feet crowd live in some kind of bizarro vortex? No, not the Lego one, the food fetish one or the talking about inappropriate body parts one. I'm talking about the Time Vortex. Today, the kid posse spent the car ride to school discussing things that had happened in their past. Their distant past. Like about fifty years ago, according to Tater Tot. You know, when she was three. She's five now.
I wish I could remember stuff that happened to me fifty years ago, but I can barely remember yesterday.
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