I told myself I could have one hot mess of a week to feel real bad, drink too much, break down on runs, ignore my chores in favor of writing long, sad descriptions of Nithavellirian mountains and watch TV. Now that's done and I'm moving on. 2000 iu Vitamin D and getting back to work. We cleaned and aired the house; I made a pumpkin cheese cake and a broccoli cheese soup with salad and bread for tonight. It's important for me to keep in mind that for all my skirts and dumb poems, I'm a hard, practical sort of bitch at the core, the kind of girl who, historically, would spare her own life on account of promises regarding pumpkin pies. It's really beautiful weather we're having.
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Last weekend was so good. If it stays this warm, I'll camp into December. It doesn't even need to be dry. Fuck doing anything else except being out in the woods.
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I might have gone overboard on the pumpkins this year. I knew I had a lot of baking to do with them, so I filled up my front porch pretty well. Now every time I go out to choose one to sacrifice to the many things needing to be cooked with pumpkin, I feel like I'm picking out a beloved chicken to chop. That's a bit of an exaggeration, I guess, but I'm not messing around about how much I like pumpkins.
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