For those who are interested, I posted a short piece (~550 words) in my Writing.com portfolio about jumping out of an airplane. It's here. It is not intended to be a masterful composition of awesomeness. I have not revisited to edit it, so there may be boo boo's. So you get what you pay for.
I just ordered hot, buttered toast from T. No telling what I'll actually end up getting.
My "garden" (the strawberry, tomato and pepper plants) seems to be determined to beat the odds of my laziness and neglect. To my defense, I did throw some water their way a few days ago. The rain has done the rest. One of the tomato plants was damaged in the car ride home and is not doing as well but even it is doing alright. I guess I could put some fertilizer on them but I figure plants have been around longer than man and, hence, without fertilizer. Who am I to break the cycle now? Am I to challenge a tradition that's as old as time itself? Surely not.
Ah, my hot, buttered toast is here. And it is indeed what I ordered. I will pass on the munchery, however, as it is plastic but it's the thought that counts. Besides, if Spudling was actually using a toaster I'd be a little concerned.
I had the pleasure of taking G to breakfast on Friday. I don't get to do it often, and I never know quite what will transpire, but we always have fun. We went to Starbucks and had some genuinely overpriced coffee (well, I did), a cranberry orange muffin, and a piece of pumpkin loaf (which is a nugget of bliss in baked good form). Conversation ranged from what her friends at school were doing to how silly my dog is. It's something we both look forward to and I highly recommend it. I look forward to many more breakfast dates with G and, in the future, with T.
Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel is just a freight train coming your way...