You know you've made a good girlfriend choice when you sing one of Dick Van Dyke's bits from the Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious song (complete with horrible Cockney accent), and she demands that you sing it to her EVERY DAY, UNTIL YOU DIE.

Internet, meet The Snuggler:





Also, here's a shot of me doing my thing:

...And yet somehow the words don't seem to come like they used to. There is so much that is positive in my life right now, so many good things have happened and will continue to happen, but I feel a bit sad at the moment. When I quit my job and moved to Santa Cruz, I fully expected to spend a lot of time writing. After all, that was the main reason for everything. I've known I was a writer since I was 9. It's simply what I AM, at my core. And yet the words aren't coming.