Sunday Morning: A Poem

My furrowed brow, lowered by the weight of the sun’s rays. My eyes squinted, my back itched, and that blind man’s seeing eye dog was beginning to draw uncomfortably close. Suppose that the dog has problems seeing as well, considering the mongrel eyed my leg as though it were a fire hydrant.

The overgrown pup looked up at me, innocence in its eyes, a loose tongue hanging from its mouth. Droplets of drool made their escape from the crevices between its no doubt crooked teeth, and pitter pattered on an ant pile in the crack of the dilapidated sidewalk. Ants don’t swim very well.

My sigh took an angel’s wings. The shirt I wore was soaked through the back with sweat turning the sky blue into a deeper hue, my thighs chafed in these designer denim jeans, and the wooden bench I sat atop was hotter than Satan clubbing on a Friday night.

But this is a California Sunday morning.

And they don’t start selling liquor till 2.

Took me about a week, TBH.

They’d rather believe bronze-age lies that make them feel like they’re the special, pandered center of the universe than the truth of our vast, empty, inhospitable, disinterested reality.

Hey hey! Just cuz your existence amounts to shit doesnt mean you should push that on the rest of us.

Sunday Morning: A Poem

My furrowed brow, lowered by the weight of the sun’s rays. My eyes squinted, my back itched, and that blind man’s seeing eye dog was beginning to draw uncomfortably close. Suppose that the dog has problems seeing as well, considering the mongrel eyed my leg as though it were a fire hydrant.

The overgrown pup looked up at me, innocence in its eyes, a loose tongue hanging from its mouth. Droplets of drool made their escape from the crevices between its no doubt crooked teeth, and pitter pattered on an ant pile in the crack of the dilapidated sidewalk. Ants don’t swim very well.

My sigh took an angel’s wings. The shirt I wore was soaked through the back with sweat turning the sky blue into a deeper hue, my thighs chafed in these designer denim jeans, and the wooden bench I sat atop was hotter than Satan clubbing on a Friday night.

But this is a California Sunday morning.

And they don’t start selling liquor till 2.

Sunday Morning: A Poem

My furrowed brow, lowered by the weight of the sun’s rays. My eyes squinted, my back itched, and that blind man’s seeing eye dog was beginning to draw uncomfortably close. Suppose that the dog has problems seeing as well, considering the mongrel eyed my leg as though it were a fire hydrant.

The overgrown pup looked up at me, innocence in its eyes, a loose tongue hanging from its mouth. Droplets of drool made their escape from the crevices between its no doubt crooked teeth, and pitter pattered on an ant pile in the crack of the dilapidated sidewalk. Ants don’t swim very well.

My sigh took an angel’s wings. The shirt I wore was soaked through the back with sweat turning the sky blue into a deeper hue, my thighs chafed in these designer denim jeans, and the wooden bench I sat atop was hotter than Satan clubbing on a Friday night.

But this is a California Sunday morning.

And they don’t start selling liquor till 2.

me as a doctor

that look says she bout to beat that doctor’s ass

Lol

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The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

My Overall Thoughts - 5/5

This is the introduction to a massive world. A 1200 page introduction. A compelling, intricate, deep introduction to what I can only assume is going to be an utterly ginormous book series. Brandon Sanderson can pull it off. I have no doubt. 

I picked up The Way of Kings several times before. I never made it past the Prelude. Now, I’m not incredibly anti-prologue or whatever…but I just never got hooked enough to move past the “okay” prelude into the honking novel that was The Way of Kings. Finally, my husband read it and he said, “Just keep reading. I promise.” And those kinds of promises always irritate me. Like, why can’t it just hook me from the get go? Why does it have to wait to get good? 

My ONLY complaint is that the prelude, when the reader is otherwise uninformed about the world of the story, isn’t that engaging. Going back, of course, after I read the book, the prelude makes perfect sense as the opening. What other opening could there be? But it did take me a while to muster up the will to move past it into the meat of the book. And I am so glad I did—as I knew I would be. The entire book might be an introduction to the Stormlight Archives as a series, but it doesn’t feel that way. Not in the moment. I was so involved with the characters, getting to know them and their stories and their place in this huge world…I loved it. And I came to love every narrating character for their own reasons. Kaladin and Shallan, from the start, I adored. And while it took me a little longer to love Dalinar, I came to look forward to his narration as well. Characters are what pull me into a story, and The Way of Kings does not want for character. More on that below. The worldbuilding is great, of course, and the magic system—what Sanderson is kind of known for—is complex and interesting and I still don’t feel like I’ve done more than scratch the surface when it comes to understanding it. I can’t wait to start Words of Radiance. And by that, I mean I’ve already started it. Started it moments after finishing this one. 

I read this on Kindle and also listened to the audiobook while running and biking and driving. Michael Kramer and Kate Reading (who you might know as the narrators for the entire Wheel of Time series…) did a great job. They are pleasant to listen to.

Very mild spoilers below cut.

Keep reading

I couldnt stop laughing!