I quit.

Let's get real, people.

Sometimes life is shizz.

No mom, I said shizz.  It's totally not the same.

She's a little sensitive.  I spent the weekend using semi-foul language with the sole intention to ruffle her feathers.  Kind of like an I'm-an-adult-see-what-I-can-do kind of thing.

I also eat dessert and then tell her about it.

It's how I say I love you.

But I digress.

What were we talking about?

Shizz?

Yes.  What shizz we have to go through sometimes, eh?!

And isn't it grand that there are more times than we care to count when all the shizz hits the fan at once?

Snarking grand.

But this is all to say that eventually that shizz that stunk up our mental places turns into fertilizer; metaphoric crap we can actually use to make life better.

Oops, I said crap.

Crud.

But actually, crud doesn't make too fine a fertilizer.  You need literal poo.  But here I go getting away from myself again.

No, I'm not really quitting anything.  Sometimes I'd like to, but I'm not.

Shizz is only shizz if I let it get to me.

So I go back to the drawing board and do it differently.

.....

How vague can I get, you ask?

Mmmmhmmm.