by Lillian Csernica on June 17, 2013
Here it is, the grand finale. I’ve been mulling over this post. contemplating some serious topics. You know what? I’d rather have some fun.
Taken in its milder sense, a confession is the admission of having done something you’ve kept quiet about because you’re too embarrassed to admit you’ve done it. Here, then, are a few of the skeletons in my closet who wear Hawaiian shirts.
When I’m at home I’m generally dressed in my bathrobe because A) I’m lazy, b)it saves on laundry, and c) there’s considerable precedent for the bathrobe being the uniform of the working writer.
I spend more time sleeping on the living room couch than in my bed because I stay up too late, the cats drape themselves all over me, and before I know it my insomnia meds have kicked in.
If something happens that sets me off, either depression or grief or total knickknack-smashing frustration, my husband will put me in the car, take me out, and find some place where he can buy me a rock. Seriously. That’s how I got the labradorite heart that I treasure. It probably has something to do with me being a Capricorn.
I sleep with a stuffed toy cat. (Or I would, if I could find the box we packed it in when we moved.)
I once went sneaking out with my male BFF in high school on my first experience of toilet-papering a house. The next day at school we found out that in the dark we’d gotten turned around and missed our target house completely. I still wonder what came of that night. Who lived there? Who were their suspects?
And now, here it is, the Big One: I’ve written fan fiction. I won’t tell you my pen name, but I might be willing to tell you which fandom(s), and who I ship(ped).