★Nolan signed me up to make cornbread dressing (stuffing?) for 40 people to take to our church Thanksgiving dinner. Do I get to go? No. Is Nolan going to go? No. But I'm still making the crap ton of stuffing. I can't even conceive of the amounts of ingredients for that. There's math in my future. Ugh. I'm not upset, though. Not about the signing up, or the making of the dish, or even the fact that I'm not getting to eat it. I'm upset about the math. Math makes me grouchy.
★Ethan just spent ten minutes trying to convince me that those yogurts that have Oreos or M&M's packaged with them to sprinkle on top are low fat and healthy for you. Seriously, kid. This is not my first rodeo. And: Ew, cough, gag and splutter.
★Tomorrow I have too much to do. A jam-packed full day. It's full of all good things, but there's not going to be time to breathe. I've become rather accustomed to breathing, and it bothers me a bit when I'm prohibited.
★Do you know when you do something, and then people really like it? That feeling you get when you get a pat on the back? I've had a dozen of those pats over the past week, for a short story I wrote for an anonymous fest where I still remain anonymous. Every single pat makes me smile. And if I could figure out how to respond anonymously, I would. But I am technologically deficient. It's a good thing I have other talents, for sure. Like making breakfast parfaits. I make a mean parfait.
★Rehearsal. Rehearsal is SO. MUCH. FUN. Rarely have I been with a group of people who are so creative and hard-working and intuitive as these boys. It's a delight and a joy. I've decided I'm going to do a picture a night on instagram. So you can follow the show and my crappy photography skills over there. I'm carriehuckabay on that particular site. Which is my actual name, if you throw in a space, for those of you who don't know.
★Also, and I'm loathe to "announce" it, but here goes: *deep breath* I'm breaking up with Sugar.
*throws self on floor and weeps bitterly*
It isn't Sugar's fault, and it isn't because I don't believe in Sugar's love for me, or even because I'm trying to lose weight (I'm ALWAYS trying to lose weight), or because I read the ebook of Skinny Bitch and secretly liked that the author was cursing at me like some sort of sailor with Tourette's. I'm leaving Sugar because I can trace all of the times I feel like utter and complete crapola to refined Sugar. Quite frankly, I'm sure I'll miss Sugar. I'll have Sugar withdrawals. I'm going to leave 2 a.m. phone calls on Sugar's phone and write Sugar a love Sonnet a day. But Sugar makes me feel like ass, and even if I do love Sugar from the deepest depths of my black little heart and want to have a billion of Sugar's little Sugar Babies, Sugar has to leave.
That metaphor went wrong somewhere. Alas. You have to know when to say when.
★That's all. *points to the icon* Make the right decision.
Cake. No... death. No! Cake.... It really is a difficult choice. As for me, I'm going to go Google 'Crapton of dressing' and see what comes up.