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Ending My Writing Drought

It’s just a common old ice box.  Fridge on bottom, freezer on top, almond in color.  It came with the house.  Unlike other women folk who show pride in their appliances, notably the cleanliness of it, the outside of my fridge looks much like the inside.  And if you’ve been reading here long enough, you are witness to the fact that my icebox could easily appear on an episode of What Not to Eat.  And if you haven’t been reading here long, enter at your own risk.

It will not come as a big surprise to discover inspirational quotes, scriptures, and hand print art decorating the outside doors of the fridge, held in place by various magnets either given to me or picked up for free throughout the years.  There is Ashlynn’s Algebra papers with A’s stacked on top of Emma’s immunization records affixed in place with a #1 Teacher magnet.  There is a Christmas card photo halfway covered by a magnet boldly displaying Poison Control’s 1-800 number which fortunately I have yet to call since I know from previous experience that eating rat squares didn’t kill my niece Zoie, so until somebody eats at least two, I won’t worry.

A fortune from 3 years ago announcing I will inherit a large sum of money is stuck randomly next to a postcard size depiction of Jesus in a white robe and open arms that my mom brought with her on her last visit.   You can always count on your mom to worry about your soul.  Don’t worry, my soul is safe.

And hidden behind all of this is a torn piece of notebook paper from a spiral notebook.  On that paper I have scribbled 30 things that I was going to blog about.  I attached to the fridge so I would see it often and  I wouldn’t forget to blog about these particular 30 things.  Anyone else see the irony?

It’s really not that I forgot.  Okay, sometimes I did.  But also, it’s  hard.  These topics may leave me vulnerable, they force me to think, and think hard, and quite frankly some are just dull.  But I said I would, and so I will.  Starting tomorrow.

My blog is currently under a dry spell, and this is my effort to bring some life back to it.

Not to mention afterwards I can throw away the list on my fridge and replace it with a scribbled color page with coffee stains.

What about you?  What’s the oddest thing on your fridge?

And by the way, this gem right here is my 500th blog post.  Here’s to 500 more.  Cheers.



I’m Angel, a.k.a. Rocket Surgeon, and these are my chronicles. I love writing and I believe our stories should be shared, so here you’ll find anecdotes of my life, loves, worries, fears, joys, and experiences. I blog about my mishaps and adventures as a wife, mommy, auntie, wanna-be writer, teacher, Texan, country/city/mountain girl, cereal killer and Jesus-freak. A few things you might discover about me: •Jesus is my everything; without Him I am nothing, but with him I can do all things •My family makes this world a better place for me to live in •I adore chickens, the live ones, although the cooked ones aren’t too bad either •I have 2 dogs: Grace and Ozzie. And one cat: Rocky Muffin •My dream job would be to raise chickens and write best sellers Thanks for stopping by. Kick off your shoes and stay awhile. I know your time is valuable and I honor you for spending a few moments here with me. I hope you find something to brighten your day, lighten your load, make you chuckle and remind you of the good in the world. “When you look for the bad in mankind, expecting to find it, you surely will." Pollyanna I’m always eager to meet new online friends, so leave a comment and introduce yourself.

5 thoughts on “Ending My Writing Drought

  1. 500 !! WOW … I’m pretty surre I’ve read all if not most of them! My computer has been on the “fritz” so the new one is now up and running and I’m back following up with you. So glad you have ended your drought. I’ve really missed you! As for my fridge…sounds like the “twin” to yours! I look at all of those things every time I wipe it down and think “why am I keeping that!” and then I put it back yet once again. Hugs to EK Until next time .. Donna H.


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