EXCUSES I’VE MADE TO PROCRASTINATE FROM STARTING THIS BLOG:
If I start now, I won’t see the first royal baby pictures of Prince George as it is soon to be revealed after the next commercial break on the E Network
Just give me a few more hours to stare at my big toe
That one kid I knew in that one class in college during that one semester just posted pictures of his trip to his grandmother’s house on Facebook. It’s. Absolutely. Riveting.
I’ve suddenly developed an interest in rhythmic gymnastics and must buy colorful ribbon immediately
I’ve smelled some pretty bad things before in my life. Like my used sports bra when left too long without ventilation in my gym bag. Or some of that brown cheese from the fancy cheese aisle in the grocery store.
I’ve never smelled whale vomit before, but I’m pretty sure it’s a combination of that brown cheese fraternizing with my sports bra in my gym bag.
I guess you could call me Joan. Maybe Joanie. Possibly even Jonahette. You know I’m just a crazy, single Christian girl that has run in the opposite direction every time you’ve nudged me to start this writing project.
I know my disobedience is as shocking as milk coming from cows.
And no amount of ribbon can make me look remotely rhythmic.
I know you could have easily had me swallowed up by Shamu or a really fat dolphin, but alas, you’ve kept me on dry land to come to my senses. But I know I stand before you reeking of a stench like Jonah’s whale vomit after being barfed up by the whale. Like Jonah, I’m trying to right the wrongs and run towards you after spending so much time running away from your call. Like Jonah, I’m not sure if I’ll know what to say. Like Jonah, I know you’ve promised to meet me here and give me the words. All I have to do is show up.
So I’m trying, attempting, to obey. I’m showing up.
Thanks for meeting me here.