day after day I become of less use to myself

I have all these things I want to write about right now. Here's a list:

• Would my life have turned out differently if I'd watched Titanic as a preteen? In which ways? Discuss.
• My Mentor Southern Writer Casey Clabough and Why It's Been Impossible for Me to Write an Actual Essay about His Work and the Effect it has had on Me and My Life
• A time recently I encountered a magic cat that saved me from a ghost
• Thoughts had on Travis's Porch
• Things I want to do before summer is over
• I just checked out all four of my favorite Charles Wright books from the library. I had to actively resist rubbing them on my dragon stomach possessively and then placing them carefully among my hoard, never to be returned to the other unsuspecting fools in my town. What obnoxious posts will I make about this? What poems as posts to describe my moody little days?What vague but carefully over-wrought post titles? Golly, golly. Can you even stand it?

But I'm still goddamn sick, and I've given my word to behave myself and go to bed at a reasonable hour Therefore, I present to you a photopost of a bunch of out of context shots from the last week or so. With promises of all kinds of written feelings to come.

Keyhole.

Lost in the woods.

Hike face.

All ye who enter, none shall leave alive.

Into Moria.

Out the other way. 

Spicebrush swallowtail missing three legs. Stop staring at my rage lines.

I bought this nail polish exclusively because it reminded me of salamander bellies. My fingers look horrible and red, but I was just wearing a bright shirt.