Guys, I am  BORED . Not in the, "I need to find something to do for a minute while I wait for my pasta to finish boiling," sort of way. I'm bored in the, "oh my God, what am I doing with my life, you're just sitting there, not doing anything, and you need to do shit to get your life going but don't know how," sort of way. It's probably my anxiety speaking, but I've reached a point at my current job where I've kind of hit my ceiling. I don't plan on being a Registered Dental Hygienist, a Registered Dental Assistant, or a Dentist, and there aren't really any leadership opportunities opening up for administrative staff. So I feel very stuck. I crave more. More responsibility, more compensation, more challenge... I just want... more . It's a very strange way to feel and even stranger to describe. It almost makes me feel like a jerk. Oh, look at her, she's unhappy at a great job working for great people. Poor her .

When my friend, Tessa, invited me to see this movie, I had heard absolutely nothing about it. I did know the legend of King Arthur and Excalibur, so deductive reasoning led me to the correct assumption that this would be a tale of King Arthur and how he came upon the Excalibur. First things first, this movie is not what you expect. It has grit, dirt, and most assuredly a complete lack of the prim and properness one is normally used to seeing in these sort of stories. The element that pulled me in initially was the soundtrack. It had this really dense, deep sound paired with strings and a toughness that I can't quite describe. Honestly, you'd do better just to listen to it yourself. Here. I'll get you started. I'm used to Guy Ritchie films starting with a bang to grab the attention, but this movie's opening scene had me a little worried about the pacing of the movie. It consisted of an oddly timed slow burn with unexpected gigantic elephants that, after aro

I don't like hot weather. Any of you who know me personally know that. If I'm sweating, I'm miserable. Granted, it's May, so summer is pretty much already here, but I feel like I still have those few days/weeks left where I can enjoy going outside without wanting to kill myself or everyone else in proximity to me. I don't know what it is about the heat that makes me feel violent. Maybe it's because I feel like I'm being slowly smothered by the humidity ( thanks, Nashville basin ). That kicks my fight or flight into high gear, and boom. I'm ready to punch anyone within arm's reach. So how is it that so many people love - and I really do mean love  - the hotter months of the year? That is a concept that simply does not compute in my brain. I would much rather curl up with a blanket while I nurse a steaming cup of chicken noodle soup or hot chocolate and peruse a book (or, let's be realistic, something on my Kindle) than go outside and imme

I'm terrible at stream-of-consciousness writing. Truly dismal. But let's do it, shall we?? A perfectionist at heart (thanks, MomLady), I always end up stopping to go back and read through what I've written, check it for grammatical errors, etc., and make changes as I deem necessary. I'm sure all the writers reading this are shaking their heads in empathetic disappointment. It's a common problem for us all. I hate to say it, but lately... writing has become a source of anxiety for me. It's never been that way, but over the last year or so, it has morphed into this activity that I almost don't even want to do anymore. And that makes me very, very sad. I used to get so much joy from writing, but every time I try to sit down and write the WIP that I've been working on for a long time I clam up, and the words refuse to come. I know it's a great story. It has some really fantastic characters (if I do say so myself), and I find the story to be engagi