Life lessons learned at the t-shirt table

So it was bound to happen. Two people of English minds (one an English degree holder, the other an English teacher) were bound to eventually talk about life and its ins and outs when forced to sit together at a t-shirt selling table.

And it was bound to happen at a benefit held for a person such as the Stewman. Holly and I have just been discussing relocating and its…

[Ladies and gentlemen, this is liveblogging at its most raw and revealing.  When I–Holly–asked Scout if she had tylenol, she wasted no time in abandoning her sentence to find headache meds for a friend, pausing only to hand me the laptop and say, “finish this.”  So I–Holly–will try to complete her thought as best I can.]

…relocating and its…um…possibility of happening in my life?  That is what we were talking about, but I’m not sure what she was going to say.  What happened was that ‘Coma dropped by the table telling me they wanted to get me to move to Martin, and I was very touched.  As Scout and I talked a little more about it, though, I had to admit I’ve been planning on bailing out of the whole region.  (In the rare case that one of my bosses reads this, I’d still like to think I have a job waiting this fall if I need it, incidentally.)

Point being, we were speaking of this area and how cool the thing she, ‘Coma, SQ, and Badger have going on over here.  Like all English majors, though, we both know there’s more we could be doing elsewhere, possibly in the field of writing…we just don’t always know what it is.  For me, I know being here right now is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.  I just need to get near some mountains soon.

Of course I could go on and on, but this is about the Stewman, and the auction is still in full swing.  This is SUCH an awesome experience.

I’ll leave you with a joke I just made up:

Question:  How many postings before a blogger hijacks a blog intended for a benefit and turns it into blatant self-indulgence-fest?

Answer:  Er, apparently nine.

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