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hopelessly devoted to... yes, that's right: Fargo. and Misfit.

Yeah, I know. I don't expect you to understand it right off the bat. I know it sounds strange, right: me, North Dakota, Fargo. 

And it's almost 11pm and I'm writing, and I'm not a nighttime writer generally. Because generally I'd have been asleep for a few hours by now.

But after Day 1 of the Misfit Conference in mind-blowing Fargo, North Dakota, I'm fairly-well buzzing. In fact, if it were possible to levitate, to achieve lift-off just by the power of a mind stuffed with amazing new friends, great conversations, unbelievable food, the brilliant speakers, creativity and inspiration just of Day 1, 

well, fuck: I'd be flying right now.

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Country Mouse Monday: wait, what day is it?

My husband will confirm that the most common question I ask lately is, What day is it?

There used to be this sharp distinction between weekdays (dread, woe, misery) and weekends (relief, freedom, jubilation), but not so much anymore.

Every day now is awesome.

Every day is mine.

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why Fargo?

A week from tomorrow, I'll get on a couple of planes and head to Fargo, North Dakota for Misfit 2014.

People keep asking me, Wait, What's this thing you're doing? Why are you going to Fargo, again? 

Well, for a reunion with people I've never really met...

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Country Mouse Monday: the honey of everyday life

Are you ever so happy, so totally content, that it almost feels like an altered state, suspended outside of time, golden?

I used to have that feeling periodically, mostly on the weekends really, when I was parked firmly inside my own life, in my garden, at play in the dirt. Doing what I wanted, not looking at the clock, on my own time.

Lately, I'm eating that honey of everyday life by the spoonful.

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No strangers here.

A few weeks ago, Joe must have said something about strangers, or made some statement about something we were doing, like “if a stranger saw us, I wonder what they’d think about that.” To which I responded that I had no way of knowing, since

I don’t know any strangers.

I remembered this yesterday when I was having a cry over the untimely demise of Sticks, a baby goat, only the cutest baby goat ever, a baby goat I’d never met who lives/lived with a person I’ve never met. And yet we’re hardly strangers.

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