She blogs, although 'blog' is a lame-assed word compared to what she does. I blog; she slices off a piece of her heart and sticks it on the screen. She blogged all the way through her husband's death from mesothelioma and the year of hell after. I love to read her blog, and when a rare post from her pops up in my Google reader, I hoard it, savoring it until I have read everything else, Like a tiny bag of Peanut M&M's at the bottom of the plastic Halloween pumpkin.
Today, she ended with this quote from Thornton Wilder.
When you're safe at home you wish you were having an adventure; when you're having an adventure you wish you were safe at home.
With all the whining I've been doing about the frivolous, self-imposed hell I've set up for myself this month, this hit me upside the head like a cold, wet sponge.
Time for me to Shut The Fuck Up and write. November will be over soon enough, and then where will I be? Safe at home, whining about how I wish I was having an adventure.