We Fly at Midnight, Little Mockingbirds

Ahh, spring is in the air and… Okay, that’s a lie. I live in Pennsylvania and Mother Nature has completely gone off her meds again. Yesterday, it snowed. Today, it was sixty degrees. Tomorrow, it’s supposed to be seventy. We have no idea what’s going on and are easily having four seasons in one day. So when I got an email about Nanowrimo Summer Camp starting in April this year, I was eager to join and also afraid that instead of ending up with bug bites in my cabin, I’d end up with frostbite. Good thing it’s a virtual camp of which I can participate in from the comfort of my own bedroom. I never was any good at camping anyway. Even when I was a Girl Scout, my friend’s mom ran the camp, so our troop never had to stay in any of the cabins. We slept inside of the mess hall, with heat and indoor bathrooms with plumbing, and a fireplace. The whole shebang.

For those of you who don’t know what Nanowrimo is, it’s this wonderful month where authors get together online and write, write, write. It literally stands for National Writing Month. The goal is 50,000 words in a month. Summer camp is a little different. It happens in April and July (Or maybe June. Don’t quote me on this.) and you set your own word count. It’s just a way to encourage yourself to write. I’ve been wanting nothing more than to get back into working on my novel for several months, but was caught up with other things. I got all of the overly time consuming things out of the way so that I can focus on my novel this month. I’m going to have a very busy month and already have a ton of things on my schedule, but I’m attempting to dedicate myself to writing 50,000 words this month. For those of you joining in on Nanowrimo Summer Camp, you can find my profile here, under Cassadee Willows.

For those of you not participating with good reason, such as you’re not a writer or you just plain don’t want to, I’m going to share a bit about my novel, which I’ve premised and began. Please forgive the sucky synopsis, as I’m so focused on the novel that I half assed it for the synopsis. See: Nothing seemed to describe it in a way that made my invisible ducks sing me the song of their people. Nothing I’ve started before midnight tonight counts toward Nanowrimo Summer Camp. We fly at midnight, little mockingbird.

The title has yet to be fleshed out. Right now it’s tentatively called State of Treacherous. I threw it at the wall, but it didn’t stick, so likely that will be changing. Other ideas for a title are Red Grace and, well, that about sums up where I’ve gotten with that. The novel is a paranormal suspense thriller. If you can say that three times fast, you are my hero. Just imagine me reading this to you in a creepy, female Hannibal Lecter kind of voice. “Hello, Clarice.”


Juliette White has a treacherous past, but doesn’t everyone? It’s what made her connect with Taylor Ford just four short years ago, after moving hundreds of miles to escape what haunted her the most. Taylor knew a thing or two about running, right up until the night she found herself locked in an eight by eight underground cell, surrounded by other women just like her.

When Taylor fails to make contact with her brother Mason, or show up to meet him and Juliette, the pair make their way from Austin to Memphis to try and track her down. The police see Taylor’s past as proof that she is nothing but a strung out runaway, and after digging deeper into Juliette’s they become convinced both girls are unstable and throw the case to the wayside.

Knowing she’s Taylor’s only hope, Juliette finds herself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, forced to pit herself against a gift that she voweled to keep hidden years ago. Mason finds himself faced with the truth that the girl he’s become so close to isn’t who he thought she was. With no other choice but to trust her, the two set out to find Taylor, come Hell or high water. What they soon uncover is far worse than anyone could have imagined in their wildest nightmares.


The ground I lay on was stone cold, no warmth or familiarity of home to be found. I hadn’t dared to opened my eyes yet, but I knew the moment I did I would immediately come to regret it like I had each day before this. I knew I had to, but the harder I tried, the more my breathing became labored. It was fear itself that held me back, a nasty old foe I thought I had come face to face with and ultimately conquered more than a year ago, along with my darkest demons. Now I was paralyzed by it.

There were thoughts forming in my head that felt like lines from a drama only penned to frighten the masses. In the state I was in, I almost had to pinch myself as a reminder that this wasn’t a movie and I wasn’t dreaming. I was never one to find glory in being a drama queen. That’s how I knew that the place full of vacancy where my battered body dwelled was pure, unadulterated hell, a place formed on fear for the sake of it. Opening my eyes would only make it real and surround me with the images that, until now, had only been conjured by the sounds that swallowed the silence.

Slowly, my eyes fluttered open. I focused on aiming them straight ahead, to not look around more than I had to so that fear didn’t lurk into the deepest places where my skeletons hid amongst the cobwebs, unapologetically leaving me in a defenseless place. All I had to keep me company now was my own mind, the singular thing I was relying on to keep me strong. If I got out of my head even for a brief second and lost the memories of what kept me together, I’d have nothing to live for. I’d have no hope.

One of the first things that hit me when I tried to move was the intense pain in the left side of my abdomen. It was sharp, and though not unexpected still hit me like a ton of bricks. For the past three days that I had been here, it had kept me from getting from the ground to my feet. Today I decided I was having that no more. I had inspected the wound in a former bout of consciousness and rendered it ultimately superficial. Although the wound was deep where the knife had sliced into my skin, it had still only maimed the skin. Everything else remained untouched by evil.

Even still, I had spent these days on the concrete bleeding. At first I gushed, holding my side and applying pressure to make it stop. The pressure was enough to rapidly slow the blood flow to a pace no quicker than a trickle, leaving only a stain on my now filthy clothes. Bandages had been thrown at me to cover the wound, something I was forced to do myself. This was the first time I had looked at the bandage and saw no blood seeping through. Although extremely weak from losing blood, it had not been a fatal amount and I knew all too well that it wouldn’t be what killed me.

Summer Camp For Nerds

It’s that time of the year again. It’s NanoWrimo time! Okay, not really. For those of you who are NanoWrimo nerds like myself, you’ll know that there is a summer camp going on. I’m all about summer camp, as long as there’s no bugs or cabins or community toilets.

Who am I kidding? I fail at summer camp. Nevertheless, Nanowrimo is having one that I can participate in from the comfort of my own Sleep Number bed, and I get to spend the whole month basking in the goodness of writing my novel. I need something to bask in the goodness of, other than humidity, broken car mirrors and seizure testing. (See: The really fun part of last month was when someone parked in a spot that wasn’t an actual parking spot and ripped the mirror off of my car while I was in the hospital for an appointment. They didn’t leave their insurance information, so now I have to pay for a new mirror and my mechanic is out of town for two weeks. Fun times, my friends.)

Coincidental to this whole situation, my novel takes place at an old summer camp turned retreat and wedding venue, Firefly Meadow, set in the fictional town of Adelyn, Alabama. Population: crazy. I was looking for a way to integrate a situation in my life that changed everything inside of me and made me lose who I was, into a fictionalized story, but didn’t know how I wanted to do it. Several ideas swam through my head, until, with a little help from a very special friend named Sarah, came the inspiration for the book.

Some people I know will be portrayed under fictional circumstances. The ones who were good to me will like it. Someone probably won’t. But it’s not gossip if it’s the truth, and it’s not real if it’s fictional. The burden of similarity lies on the ones who are vain enough to believe they’re worth writing about. And if, by chance, they are one I wrote about, actions have consequences. Inspiring a story may just be that. No one is put to shame. No one is mocked. It’s just a story after all. A fictional story. One that I know other women can relate to and will find when they just need something to relate to like I’ve done with so many books over time. They made me feel normal. They made me connect with the characters. That’s all you can ask from a book.

So wish me luck on this little journey because, as Sarah would say, “I’m so excited I could pee!” (Please don’t.)

It Doesn’t Suck At All

It’s that time of the year again. No, not Christmas, though get ready for a bunch of delicious Christmas posts, because this girl is excited about it and starts early. I digress. Does anyone know what time it is?

IT’S NANOWRIMO TIME! And you can check out the synopsis and profile for my new novel, State of Treacherous, here. This is an idea that I’ve been playing with for two years, but could never write, because I was never able to get the relationship between Melinda and Ford quite right since it wasn’t a relationship I was familiar with. But sometimes people come into your lives and they change all of that for you. So after a few years of sitting on the idea that my gut feel told me I should write and seek a publisher for, I finally have the missing puzzle piece that will allow me to write it.

In the same spectrum of that and with that excitement aside, for the past few days I’ve been meaning to come and tell you all a little bit about love and life that I have learned over the past week. I’ve always been a big believer that everything happens for a reason. Lately I’ve found myself searching for a reason harder than ever. With being a psychic medium, I’m used to knowing the reasons for things and how they will play out before they do. The situation that has happened in the last month and a half, from the breakup to the boy not talking to me out of the blue, have left me confused, heartbroken, and wondering why, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know or understand the situation at hand. Why couldn’t I find the reason?

Amongst the clouds is always a silver lining, because although the reason wasn’t obvious and it took me awhile to find, I know at least part of it now. And it’s enough for me to be content and start feel like I’m my old self again, which is comforting. Now, I’m not one to give out specific or personal details from my relationship, but if outlining some parts of it helps someone else, I’m all about doing that for prosperity’s sake, in hopes that one day another girl will come along in the same position and find comfort in the words I didn’t have when I was going through this.

In the name of being honest, I had some issues when I was dating The Boy. He terrified me incredibly, and I found myself having panic attacks. I was so happy with him that it made no sense, but I always knew it had something to do with the situation with Friend, though I could never pinpoint exactly what. I think deep down I knew what I had done to Friend and the way I had walked away from him all of those years ago. I never thought I’d find a nice guy again, and I really did, so the fear bubbled to the surface that I was going to find a reason to walk away from him and leave him and hurt him like I did with Friend, when I wanted nothing more than not to do that, and it panicked me. I really wanted to keep The Boy for awhile.

When the break up happened, I immediately saw that he was doing to me what I had done to Friend, and I knew it was never on purpose. I never hated him or got mad, though I was hurt, because I understand and had found it quite the ironic situation. That was when it hit me what the real problem was. I had never forgiven myself for what I had done to Friend, and until I did, I could never be in a relationship with anyone or try to make it work, because it never would. I would take away my own relationships with my insecurities faster than you can say sabotage.

One of the first people to step up and support me when everything broke down was Friend. Out of nowhere he came in and made sure I was okay, and even though it had to be on the tip of his tongue, he never gloated about the fact that I had ultimately received my comeuppance, because he, too, knew I had never done what I had done on purpose, just the same as The Boy. That’s when I realized that he forgave me, and in that moment I was able to forgive myself. I was able to allow myself to be okay with someone and to move on. That’s what I needed for all of these years, and that’s what I need to have a successful relationship.

But the really spectacular part in all of this is that none of this would have happened if I never met The Boy. When I first met The Boy, I liked him immediately, but I still felt like something was wrong. What was wrong was that I had left Friend behind all of those years ago and was still emotionally caught up with that. While The Boy was away for the summer, and with the gut feel that something was going to happen between us when he got back, I knew something had to change.

On a whim, I contacted friend, and he reached out back. We talked a little. We became friends again. That’s when I knew that I could try and move on, and I had finally put four years to rest just being able to talk to Friend again. There were no what ifs or questions. He was talking to me. He didn’t hate me. It was okay, and so I did move on. But part of me was still stuck.

If I wouldn’t have met The Boy (Whose name is either Eric, Craig or Greg, if you’re my mom. It’s still funny a month and a half later.), I would have never talked to Friend again. If I wouldn’t have talked to friend, I wouldn’t have been able to move on. If I wouldn’t have been able to move on, I wouldn’t have actually dated The Boy. If I hadn’t dated the boy, I would have never known that I still had an issue that needed addressed. If he hadn’t broken up with me, Friend would have never stepped in and that issue would have never gotten addressed. If that issue would have never gotten addressed, I would have sabotaged all my relationships. And if I wouldn’t have met the boy I wouldn’t be able to work on the novel I had a gut feel on, because I would have never had anything to base the characters off of.

Everything happens for a reason.

Just because things happen for a reason and leave you for the better doesn’t mean that you wanted things to turn out that way. Do I wish we wouldn’t have broken up? I had never known I could be that happy, so yes, I do still wish it wouldn’t have happened. But it also doesn’t mean I’m trying to get back together with him. I’m not. Though hoping that one day he will come around and talk to me again, since I have absolutely no idea why he’s not talking to me in the first place, wouldn’t be so bad. We had something once. I think we’d like getting to know each other all over again, because let me tell you, it really didn’t suck at all the first time.


Today, I officially decided to join the Nanowrimo website. I have no idea what I’m doing or how I’m doing it, but boy am I having fun. Fun, however, can also be a lot of work. For years I heard about Nanowrimo, but I always fluffed it off and moved on, wondering how anyone had the kind of time to complete such a lengthy task. And then this year came around, and I decided to dive in head first and hope I didn’t give myself a concussion. It took me a total of an hour and a half to set up my profile and figure out exactly what in the heck Nanwrimo is, because, I admit, I didn’t know much past the fact that they want you to write a lot, and as I’ve explained before, I’m just awful with new sites and figuring them out. There’s grannies out there that are figuring out these sites faster than I am, but I digress.

I am already in the process of writing two separate novels, so I was a bit discouraged when I saw that I had to start a new novel from scratch for this event. However, I feel like I’ve been stuck when it comes to writing, and I’ve been looking for something to do to loosen my mind and just get myself writing again, going back to the days where I wrote whatever came to me and stopped trying so hard and frustrating myself. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Around 7:30 tonight, I sat down to officially start brainstorming ideas, because I had not a one. Between then and now I have not only written the first chapter, a full 8,885 words and eleven pages, but I’ve also outlined two more chapters of the story. I don’t know where I’m going with this ultimately, but I’ve forgotten how much fun it can be to just sit down and write things as they come. I’m sure my bliss and glee of getting so much writing done today will probably be short lived, because after all the hours I spent on it today, I probably won’t want to work on it tomorrow, or will spend the night stressing about the next chapter, which is where I hit my wall. I put too much pressure on myself, and for once, I’m trying not to do that. I miss the days when I didn’t.

If you want to check out my profile for Nanowrimo, you can find it here. Here’s hoping that my motivation doesn’t leave me and I don’t stress myself out, because I haven’t been excited about anything like this in a long time.

On a side note, I know my novel description sounds cliche. It is, but that’s because I’m not sure where I’m ultimately going with this story yet. So please hang in there with me, because once I figure it out I will update the description so the story actually sounds interesting instead of so run of the mill.

Welcome to My Little Life That I Like to Refer to As “A Bucket Full of Accidents”

Hi, all! Thank you for visiting my shiny-new little space. I’m no stranger to blogging, but am to WordPress, so please excuse the insanity and my blatant non-tech-savvy nerdiness until I get all phazers simultaneously set to stun. (Excuse the Sci-Fi reference. I’ve never even seen Star-Trek.) I am in the process of packing up all my thoughts neatly into boxes that are probably too heavy for me to carry, completely ensuring at least one bad accident, and bringing them on over to a new beginning. My previous blog, Truly Ruby, is my pride and joy, but unfortunately Google bought Blogger out and Miss Tech-Confusion Inside of a Mild Case of OCD over here can’t seem to become friendly with the new dashboard. I’m completely embarrassed by this, as I should be. So this shall be my new blogging home…just as soon as I unpack everything and put it out all nice and tidy like.

If you’ve found this post, it’s probably important to warn you all that I’m a tad unconventional. I do things a little differently. Heck, I fully believe I was supposed to be a Southern girl, since I am one at heart, and my life just got confused, hence the name of the blog. (I also realize that unsouthern isn’t a world. But if it’s good enough for Blanche Devereaux, it’s good enough for me.) I mean, it has to be a mistake. If that’s not enough for you, I have two names. For legal purposes, my birth name is Amy. For all other purposes, I go by Cassadee, or just plain Cass. I’m a writer, aspiring author, animal lover and rescuer, friend, daughter, and psychic medium. If the last part isn’t your cup of tea, that’s alright, too. I would never ask anyone to believe me; everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I’ve been called crazy too many times to care. Besides, I have plenty of stories to tell, paranormal or not, so there’s a little something for everyone on this site, be it a lover, fighter, comedian, animal person, or paranormal enthusiast, and everything in between, too.

I’ve been looking for a new place to unpack my little knick-knacks and chotskies for a little while, but what a better time to do it than on the first day of Nanowrimo? I’m going to attempt to write a new post each and every day, but you will soon learn that my life often has other plans. I am currently full of time to do things, but I am currently full of medical issues, too. (I’m not complaining. Life is going to go how it’s going to go. It’s what you do with it that matters.) My doctors aren’t allowing me to work, which you think would allow me plenty of time to write, but often days I’m too sick to think straight, and then Mono came right on along and somehow visited me while I was being all cool and never leaving my house like a shut in, because I was already sick. I’m also perpetually single. (Don’t worry, my doctor and I got a good laugh out of how I was the least likely person to catch mono, too.) So if you don’t hear from me for awhile, feel free to assume I’m still alive and poke me with virtual sticks. It usually gets my attention.

In honor of Nanowrimo, I’m going to post my first story about the insanity that is my life, which will be what this blog encompasses in the future. This post was originally written for my old blog and people who knew me. It was kind of like Cheers over there, y’all. Therefore, there’s a few things you’ll all need to know in order for this post to make sense. One: I am the clumsiest, most ill fated, accident prone people you will ever meet. I’m fully convinced, and it has been proven, that I can get hurt in a room with nothing else in it. Two: My mom is a real estate agent. It doesn’t sound important, but it is to this post. Three: The events in this post happened about three weeks ago. I’m just a little slow getting around to posting it. Four: I’m slow. I could sit here and tell you that I’m usually busy jet setting around the world and hugging homeless puppies, and although I’d prefer that to be the truth, it’s a total lie. I’m just sick. Five: Welcome to my life. Try not to get let my ridiculousness rub off of you. I don’t want anyone getting hurt over here.

Anyway, welcome to my first post. I hope you all enjoy it.

I’ve said it once, twice, a thousand times, but I’m going to say it again, I am a walking disaster. There could be movies written about the nearly unrealistic conundrums I find myself entangled it. What I’m saying is, y’all, it’s been a week. I almost broke my thumb, ankle and ribs in a span of five days, because I’m super talented like that. I’ve also been completely hammered with paranormal cases to the point where I find I have to turn off my phone if I want to attempt to get any sleep or anything else done. Plus, I’m the only psychic-medium our historical society will work with, so I’m busy resolving issues there. It’s been fun, folks.

To have y’all understand what kind of fun, I’m going to tell you about the very I Love Lucy worthy moment that happened last week. It all started in a very innocent, non suspecting way. My mom’s coworker needed a vacant home cleaned and asked us if we wanted to do it. It was an easy enough job, and it was a way to make money on my own schedule, since it didn’t have to be done at that moment. It was also something that I could sit when I needed to, only work on it for a few hours, and not stress out my health. We snatched that job right on up.

The job should have only taken a few hours. Should have are the key words here. They make guest appearances throughout this post, but I digress. We arrive on what should have been day one of one, put all our stuff in the house, and then yelled “HOLY SHIZBALLS” really loudly, only without that last part. I only did that in my head…I think. The owner had just moved out of this house, so it was very recently vacant, and literally looked like no one had lived in there or touched it in years. There were cobwebs all over the walls and ceiling, and full fledged dust rabbits on growth hormones all over the floor. If I put all those dust rabbits together, I could have made myself a horse. A small, cute horse, like this, but a horse nonetheless.

Everything was still especially wonderful, because we didn’t have furniture to clean around. Then I reached the dining room. Unfortunately, in being under the understanding that the house was vacant, we didn’t expect to open up a cupboard and find enough beer pong supplies, alcohol included, for an entire frat house. Did I mention the owner was single guy in his 30s? And this was the best thing we found in the house. The next part is not suitable for anyone. Anyone.

I found used condom wrappers, folks. USED CONDOM WRAPPERS. I mean, let’s just start with the fact that this dude moved out and left them there, and end with the fact of WHY IN THE HECK DID HE NOT THROW THEM AWAY AFTER HE OPENED THEM? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM? Okay, sorry for that little glitch in my hardware. I’m calming down. I was never so happy for rubber gloves in my life. Ever.

And that; it also ended up being another one of the best parts of the day, because directly after this, I heard my mom yelling. She had gone downstairs to start cleaning up down there while I finished the upstairs. Now, it’s important to know before I go any further that we had come in the downstairs, because the only way we had to get in was by using a garage door opener, and the garage was on the lower level. My mom had showed me the house, which she had been in once before, and we had been all over that downstairs before we had gone upstairs to clean. So really, I was wondering where the fire was, because that downstairs was kosher the last time we had been down there.

I leave my post with the empty condom wrappers and head downstairs where I find that it’s, well, flooded. We had just been down there less than two hours before and had heard nothing. At this point my mom was unable to find out how to shut the water off, which is why she called me down. In fact, between the two of us, we couldn’t even figure out where the water was coming from or what was going on.

This is where things quickly turned into an episode of I Love Lucy. We were running around in the water and trying to find out not only where the leak was coming from, but try and turn it off, only the knobs were missing for anything connected to the pipes. All of them. And us, in a vacant house with no wrench. In fear and panic, we started running around the downstairs like morons and hitting every switch we could, including the main power line, to see if we could just make it stop. We couldn’t. And on top of this, we’re trying to get a hold of the realtor of the house who is an hour away and in the middle of a conference. Just picture this for me, if you will. Water flooding a basement, all the knobs broken, two people running around like idiots trying to figure out what’s going on. It isn’t just hysterical now; it was actually hysterical when it was happening. Luckily, we were able to see the humor in how ridiculous it was and how stupid we looked.

Eventually, we did get a hold of the realtor, and she sent out a plumber. Turns out the water meter, which, for whatever was on the inside of the home, had burst. It took the plumber a minute to find which one of the knobs with no handle was the right one, and him and his wrench went to work. It took him about two seconds to turn it off after forty-five minutes of us looking like morons. It was awesome. Really.

Then, just in case we weren’t having enough fun, we then had to wait for the realtors’ husband to get there to get the keys, because, by this time, the realtor had walked out of her conference, gotten a hold of the insurance, they had called the restoration folks, and the restoration folks were set to come out later that night. We had to pass the one garage door opener over to her husband so he could meet with the restoration folks in a few hours, and then keep one for ourselves so that we could come back the next day and finish cleaning the house once the downstairs was dry.

At this point, we couldn’t go back upstairs and finish cleaning, because we were all over water and were going to drag that upstairs and through the rooms we had just cleaned, so we were stuck outside waiting. When he did arrive, we gave him the garage door opener and went to shut the garage door. Nothing. Niche. Nadda. The big old, huh uh girlfriend. It took two of them to figure out that one of the switches we hit inside was actually the switch that the garage door ran off of. Once they got that figured out, the garage door went down beautifully, and we could go home. I also supervised this situation like a boss.

So one day of work suddenly turns into two and, if you can believe it, day one was the better of the two days. We pulled up to the house on day two, got out the garage door opener, the one we tried the night before to make sure they both worked, and nothing. It took us about two seconds to realize that the restoration company had somehow managed to get out of the home AND hit the switch to disable the garage door. It sounds like fancy magic to me, too, guys, but that’s what happened.

Enter our conundrum. Most people would call the realtor, listen to her say she was staying where the conference was since it was a few days long, wouldn’t be back for a few days, and would get us a key then and be okay with that. Only we had all our cleaning supplies in the house and company coming to our own home, that also needed cleaned, before she could get us that key. We needed in that house. And we would have taken everything with us the night before, except that we couldn’t go upstairs without messing up the floors we had just cleaned by dripping water all over the lovely wooden floors. You guessed it. That’s, of course, where all the cleaning supplies, except the mop, were. The mop wasn’t even ours. It was left in the house. This just wasn’t working out for us.

Seeing as we needed our cleaning supplies, and I was not about to give up, I devised a plan. The day before when we were there, I had spent next to five minutes fiddling with the door that goes out on the balcony from the kitchen, only to realize the lock was broken. In order to get into that door, I had to climb over a four-foot fence with a locked gate, up onto the balcony, and break in. There was a slight concern about the neighbors seeing this and calling the police, but I welcomed the police to show up and see that we had broken into a vacant house and were cleaning it. Not only that, but the sale sign was still in the yard with the real estate agency’s name on it, and my mom’s SUV has the name of the real estate company on it, too, so I did the responsible thing and broke in. It seemed reasonable at the time. And the police didn’t show up. I was a little disappointed. I’m not going to lie, I would have liked to have seen how that was going to go down.

As soon as I was safely inside, I went downstairs to flick on the switch for the garage door, which they did indeed turn off and let my in. As soon as she got in, went to see how well they did in their restoration and found they didn’t do diddly squat. They moved the few pieces of furniture the new owners had bought off the old one and put fans down. They didn’t even suck up the water. The place was still sopping wet, which we had to walk through to get upstairs. Having no choice, we made it work. I won’t get into details.

When I had to break in, I should have taken it as a warning sign that I wasn’t to be in that house that day. When the floor was still soaked, I should have gotten my stuff and ran like bananas, you know, if bananas could run. I was minding my own business upstairs and cleaning the last bedroom all on my lonesome. I happened to be cleaning the two very large, connected windows when the very heavy metal blind came right down on my thumb. I didn’t even touch the gosh darn thing, it just brutally attacked. I was highly offended.

At first I thought everything was peachy keen. Then my thumb swelled so badly that I had to take the glove off of the hand because it was strangling it. I continued to work, but eventually couldn’t use my thumb. I didn’t think it was broken, just badly bruised and swollen. The last time I thought this, however, I injured my foot so badly that it took me a year and a lot of treatments for me to be able to walk on it again. I decided not to take a chance with my thumb. The lady at Med Express thought it was broken, but luckily I just beat the crap out of it. It still hurts and is cramping my blogging.

And since I’ve already warned everyone that I wrote this three weeks ago, if you’re wondering, my thumb did finally heal…about two days ago. So, in all fairness and the little bit of defense I have, that is my reason for staying oh so incognito when it came to blogging. It wasn’t just my natural pace of tortoise.