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Tell me that you love me more

I'm listening to Feist you guys.
My sweatshirt is covered in grease splatters, covered in dried dish soap. I don't have stain spray here.
I am still wearing it because it's my only sweatshirt, and nothing else is going to hide the lumps and keep me warm.
I wish I was an illustrator. Like, legitimately. I wish I had better drawing skills.
After my bad sickness in January, and going through a few bags of cough drops, just looking at cough drops (even the good ones) makes me gag a little.
There are two cough drops on my desk so I'm gagging a little.
I definitely judge pens. And I only use pens that I like. If I don't like a pen, it's dead to me.
My weird Titanic fascination is not ending. No matter how much Office I watch. And The Office usually cures me of my weird fascinations with non-Office shows.

There's a limit to your love (duh-duh-dun dun)

I'm spending one day in Glasgow this weekend, and one day in Edinburgh. My heart is fluttering like a flame that you watch and you worry it will just flutter out all the way. But in the end it calms down.
You guys... Sometimes I wonder if something is wrong with me.
But I think we all do. Right? That's just being human.

being beatrix potter

the last view before you go to the other side of the fell, on my hike to alcock tarn

a choppy day on the launch from brantwood to conniston village

heavenly raspberry lemonade.

so the building i go to church in here is a converted set of office rooms, and the heating is iffy. it broke last week, so the members pooled all of their portable heaters to warm the building up this morning. i walked into the relief society/sunday school classroom by myself this morning when this rotating buddy was facing the opposite direction. when it turned to face me, looking like the inside of a possessed toaster, i thought i was about to die. but i didn't. it did make me hungry for toast, though.