What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
Invisibility hacks. Three of them.
We talk a lot here about how scary it can be to be seen.
Also about the longing to be seen — seen by certain people. To be acknowledged for what you have done or who you are.
The safety of not being found versus the desire to be found.
I’ve written about when you don’t want anyone to look at you.
And ohmygod what if they actually read something you wrote? About sneaking around the whole vulnerability thing.
And about reclaiming the power of being invisible.
The wanting. And the not wanting. The hiding and the seeking.
All of it. It’s not easy.
Especially online. Quadruple-especially if you want to (gasp!) make money, and you need your right people to find you.
Just like with anything we work on, there are steps you can take “in the soft” (symbolic, under-the-surface, inside stuff), and then there’s everything that happens “in the hard”. The practical, tangible, real life stuff.
Today is about three things you might want to try in the hard. Three hacks.
Three ways to have a symbolic online invisibility cloak that still lets you be accessible to the people you want in, without necessarily showing yourself to the rest of the world.

Invisibility Hack #1: The super-secret hidden services page.
The situation:
You have a thing you want to offer but you’re not ready to tell the whole world all about it.
Maybe you’re not sure how it relates to the other things you do right now, or to the types of things you want to blog about.
Maybe you’re not sure if it’s something that anyone would ever want ever. Or you just feel self-conscious.
What you do:
So you make a private page. You can even password-protect it if you like.
Then when someone emails you saying ohmygod I wish you could help me with that one thing, you can tell them that actually you do but it’s a private thing and please don’t tell anyone.
Or you send a little note to a few trusted people, and tell them to please only pass it on to people who are awesome.
And, of course, you can tell me here, and if I know someone who might be a right person for your thing, I can sneakily send them there.
Why it’s brilliant.
A number of my clients have done this, on my advice. With terrific results.
Everyone likes going to a secret page and feeling special. And you get to skip the energy suck of dealing with “leads” and “following up” with random people.
Plus you feel safe in your invisibility cloak. And it’s that safety that (paradoxically) allows you to expand into being biggified.
Invisibility Hack #2: Comment zen and the comment moderation tag-team.
The situation:
You write stuff but don’t publish it.
Or you publish it, but secretly.
Or you publish it, but you live in debilitating anxiety because you know that all it will take is one mean comment to stifle your creative fabulousness for years. If not forever.
What you do:
Two things.
First: you write a very clear request that goes at the end of every single post, stating exactly what you want, and — more importantly — what you don’t want.
Like this:
“This writing is part of my practice of expressing myself creatively. This is something that’s hard for me and requires love, patience and compassion.
“What I really appreciate: being acknowledged (and maybe even cheered on) for being in the process. I like it when you say yay, you!
“What I can’t deal with right now: any form of critique. I’m not interested in knowing about how I can do better or what I’ve misspelled. Maybe later on. But right now this is about me and my process. Thanks!”
Second: you find someone (maybe here) who also has a blog. You set up comment moderation so that comments-to-be-approved go to his email, and his comments come to you.
That way neither of you ever has to see anything potentially depressing.
Why it’s brilliant.
Clear boundaries make everyone happy.
Also, it’s way easier to delete someone else’s well-meaning hurled shoes.
What ultimately happens is that, by creating safety for yourself, you have more room to begin to deconstruct whatever internal barricades are keeping your creativity and you-ness trapped.
Invisibility Hack #3: Hiding your name.
The situation:
You’re launching a site for your new thing but holy crap you’re going to be findable on Google.
What if that creepy guy starts hanging out there? Or what if your parents or former co-workers find it and then start criticizing your tiny, sweet thing before it’s ready for that kind of attention?
What you do:
Activate ninja costume!
Put your name as an image in the header.
And nowhere else.
So while your site might announce your name in large letters at the top, it’s not google-able, because it’s hidden inside of an image.
Set up your posts to publish as “By [your first name only], and just use your first name everywhere else. Or a nickname, if — like me — your first name is ridiculously unusual.
Or by your DBA. Like, I could just be Havi from The Fluent Self. Or that one chick with the duck.
Why it’s brilliant.
You’re out there. You’re biggifying it up.
People actively looking for the stuff you talk about can find you. But any not-right people looking for stuff about you won’t get anywhere.
So there’s a sense of sanctuary.
And then, once you’re biggified and you realize you’re cool with being found under your name, lift the veil and start using your name everywhere.

The relationship between the hard and the soft.
All these hacks are things you can do in the hard to make room to start feeling comfortable. To make space for yourself.
The stuff you do in the soft is where you untangle stuckified patterns. It’s where you unravel what isn’t working and replace it with something better.
We all need both.
Working on my stuff helps me make practical changes in real life, which then get reinforced by doing more wacky transformational stuff to back up what I’ve done in the hard.
Doing things in the soft makes everything in the hard work insanely better. And, luckily, since this whole thing is an ongoing process, we get to play with it over time.

Earning your invisibility cloak. Spending some time working on this.
I so wish the how of shifting things in the soft was more readily transmittable by blog post. Because once stuff moves in the soft, it’s a lot easier to translate that into changes in the hard.
However, Selma and I will be devoting an entire day to destuckifying your visibility-invisibility thing in the soft during our three-day Camp Biggification: Earn Your Invisibility Cloak retreat-thing.
And then we’ll figure out what your next steps are in the hard and get you a plan. But one you’ll actually use because we’ve taken care of stuff in the soft like:
- ninja invisibility training (and how to turn it on and off at will)
- how to get in front of the people who do need to see you without feeling like an ass
- shining your light in non-cheesy ways and without feeling vulnerable and terrified
- secret veils, magic cloaks, pirate tricks
That’s all I have to say about that. There’s a lot more here if you’re interested.
And … comment zen for today.
We all have stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
And our stuff takes different forms for different people at different times. Because people vary.
We give each other room. We don’t give advice but it’s cool to share something that has worked for you in the past or something you’re currently playing with.
And we blow kisses at the Beloved Lurkers. Hiding is totally allowed here. 🙂
Dear part of me who thinks that if something good happens, something bad must follow…
Yep.
More letters to the (internal) editor.
Let’s do it.

The letter.
Dear part of me who thinks that if something good happens, something bad must follow,
I’m noticing that you have a lot to say right now, double-especially since we got the lease for The Playground. Wow.
So I want us to be able to talk about this, and I’m also thinking it’s time to learn a little bit more about you and how you operate.
This is what I know about you. Is this right?
Obviously this: that you believe there is no such thing as good news that is just good.
Your experience tells you that things fall apart. In unexpected ways.
Your sense of your world is that this is a place that does not support you.
You live to caution me.
Don’t get excited. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Don’t have expectations because they’ll just get smashed. Don’t be joyful about good news because then the anvils start falling.
You care about me tremendously. Even though I have trouble remembering this.
Much like my monsters, you’re okay with using fear, guilt and manipulation as long as it keeps me safe, which (in your opinion) justifies the means.
This is what I don’t know about you.
I don’t really know who you are or where you come from.
Are you a belief, developed over time in reaction to cumulative experience of things being crappy?
Because there certainly is a long list of those that you like to bring up.
Or are you deep internal programming designed to keep me safe?
Are you from the past?
Do you need to be here now?
Sometimes you seem so true and well-established that it’s hard for me to remember that you represent only one possible version of what is true for me. It’s like I get a glimpse of who you are and then I lose it again.
Your pain. It seems so painful.
You include all of the parts of me who have been through hellish experiences.
There is so much depth to your loneliness and despair and heart-ache.
I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything hurt less for you.
It has to be really hard to only know about the possibility of things falling apart, and to not know about how sometimes there is no pit to fall into, no crash and no burn.
If we talk, I need it to be like this.
Here’s the thing.
I really do want to give you room to have your say. It’s just that this pattern we have where you castigate me for being naive and then I yell at you to stop being mean and controlling … it’s kind of not working.
So I’m going to take a break from this letter and interview you. For my blog. Yes, I’m giving you a platform. But it means I need you to speak in sound-bites, not lectures, okay?
Excellent.

A short conversation with the part of me who doesn’t feel safe having good things happen.
Me: So. You’re the part of me who thinks good things can’t happen without being taken away — or bad things happening that are so bad that all the good gets erased.
Part of me: I don’t think it. I know it.
Me: Tell me more about that.
Part of me: You don’t have a realistic sense of the actual danger involved in feeling good. It’s asking for trouble.
Me: Why do you believe that’s true?
Part of me: Wouldn’t you rather expect the worst and be surprised, instead of expecting good things and getting hurt?
Me: So you are actually hoping for good things to happen. You just don’t want to hope out loud.
Part of me: Of course. That’s just common sense.
Me: You know, when we live in this constant expectation of danger, I shut down. I can’t function.
Part of me: Why am I supposed to care about that? It’s still better than watching your poor heart break again. That hurts more than anything.
Me: What if my protection and safety didn’t come from fear and anticipation of horrible things that might go wrong? What if my protection and safety came from being mindful and attentive instead?
Part of me: That’s pretty unconventional. I don’t know.
Me: What do you need? What would help you feel safe?
Part of me: I need you to acknowledge that things can and do go wrong.
Me: Okay. I acknowledge that. Anything else you need?
Part of me: A worry room! I want a worry room.
Me: What happens in the worry room?
Part of me: I worry as much as I want! And then I get comfort. And cocoa.
Me: Oh. That’s kind of sweet.

Back to the letter.
Dear part of me who needs a worry room,
I get that you need room to worry. It’s how you process things.
Here’s what I need. I need a room to hope for things.
And that room needs space and light. It needs safety and protection.
Which means we need to agree that all of these things have the right to exist.
I will let you have your worry cave.
It will be stocked with the finest cocoa.
And whatever else you want in there.
Within this space, you can have great big worry parties, take naps, feel feelings.
And the rest of my internal space can have comfort, safety, and protection for the parts of me who need to feel hopeful, and thrive on anticipation.
This is my creative space.
It’s where I come up with the wild and crazy ideas that turn into the good things that have brought up so much fear for you in the past.
You’ll get to peek at my creative process. You’ll get to see how much is new.
We’ll get used to this weird world where anvils don’t drop from the sky.
In the meantime, cocoa. And waiting. Writing letters and making rooms. Faith that things change, and that all this change will be okay.
Let’s see how it goes.
xox
Havi

Play with me!
What is welcome:
Your own letters to internal editors (or to anything else).
Anything you’re working on or thinking about related to this.
Love to all the commenter mice and Beloved Lurkers.
Metaphor Mouse starts the best foodfight ever.
So. Exactly a month ago, I announced our big new fun-brewing thing.
It is gorgeous and wonderful.
How could it not be?
We brew fun to support the Playground, which is my tiny, sweet thing that is now becoming a big real-life thing.*
* Translation: My duck and I are opening a studio where we will teach destuckification and biggification stuff in real-time. And we are raising money in cool and weird ways.
But I realized that I never told you how we got to call it fun-brewing. And the story of the naming of things (like how The Fluent Self got its spots) is often useful.
When in doubt, ask a superhero.
I was at Drunk Pirate Council (because I can’t go to “meetings” or I’ll die), going over the “fund-raising plan” with Selma the duck and the First Mate.
And it was kind of a disaster because good grief if there’s one thing more depressing than fund-raising, it’s having a plan.
We quickly realized we couldn’t do this alone. This called for a) more pirate whiskey and b) invoking the mighty Metaphor Mouse to come and save the day.
This involved yelling things like “Metaphor Mouse power ACTIVATE!”
And singing I am Iron Man but singing it I am Metaphor Mouse, which weirdly didn’t get us kicked out of the pirate bar.
Anyway. Here’s what happened when we metaphor-moused it.
Unpacking my current relationship with this. (FUND-RAISING = ?)
What are the qualities, aspects and attributes of the thing that isn’t working (including what *is* working — if anything)?
[+ stress]
[+ awkwardness of asking]
[+ shame]
[+ ew “funds”]
[+ grownup]
[+ boring]
[+ I can do it]
[+ But aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh]
[+ power]
[+ board room]
[+ banquette]
[+ lectern]
[+ terrible music]
[+ agonizing]
[+ doilies]
[+ shoulder pads and blue eye shadow]
Learning more about my IDEAL situation (X = ?)
What sort of qualities, aspects and feelings does the thing I want contain?
[+ playful]
[+ carefree]
[+ fun]
[+ community]
[+ helper mice]
[+ not scary]
[+ me-ish]
[+ an adventure]
[+ ease]
[+ surprises]
And the name-storming begins.
What is this place that is not a fund-raising dinner?
Is it a fairground? A fun-ground!
Fun-raising instead of fund-raising. Hee.
Fun-generating
Fun-grounding
Play-grounding
Fun-growing
Fun-brewing.
Once we ended up there, everything fell into place. We came up with the wishing well and the whole fun-brewing page. And it was perfect.
Metaphor Mouse was a little disappointed at first.
Because what we ended up with is not technically a metaphor.
It’s just wordifying. Word-generation. You know.
Kind of like how I say brunch instead of “launch”. Because launching is weird. And brunching is fun. Mmmmm. Brunch.**
** Borrowed this from Tara the Blonde Chicken, and it’s so perfect that I can hardly stand it.
Metaphor Mouse was therefore of the opinion that he hadn’t helped.
We said, sweetpea, of course you helped!
But he thought he hadn’t helped enough.
He wanted to make stuff happen. Tear things apart. Do some damage!
So we let him crash a fund-raising dinner. Here’s what happened.
It’s the night of our big (completely imaginary) fund-raising event. Black tie only.
Champagne in fluted glasses. Waiters with impeccable hair. Chamber music.
I’m wearing a ridiculous dress. But I’m totally pulling off the hot Grace Kelly look. Oh yes.
Selma is wearing a fabulous scarf.
Suddenly Metaphor Mouse swings down a rope onto the stage. Bounds up a wall. Swings from a chandelier.
He sweeps me out of the way, trips the evil mustachioed marketing guy, snatches a pie from the waiter and pops it right in someone’s face.
The shocked silence that greeted his entrance is followed by excitable hub hub hub hub hub rhubarb rhubarb.
Who is this masked mouse and why is he so awesome?
Chaos, unsurprisingly, ensues.
Exactly.
The thing with metaphors is that one word builds an entire world. One word contains infinite possibility and endless variation.
And the thing with inventing your own is that these worlds are your own.
It doesn’t matter if fun-brewing doesn’t conjure up magic for everyone.
It only needs to speak to me and my people. And it tells us everything we need to know.
Where does fun-brewing happen? Is it indoors? No. It’s in a forest clearing.
Is it loud? No, it’s understated and kind of hidden.
But there’s also a lot of excitement. And magic.
And fun. And stuff to drink.
So we just keep going from there.

p.s. I have a big news.
Best. News. Ever.
As of THIS MORNING we have the lease for The Playground.
Fun-brewing is go! Crazy, beautiful things are about to happen! Be joyful with me!
Very Personal Ads #44: time for a new pattern
Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.
And now it’s my Sunday ritual. Yay, ritual!
Let’s do this thing.
Thing 1: Faith. Help maintaining it.
Here’s what I want:
There are an astonishing number of things up in the air right now.
Each one full of possibility, delight, wonder and other things that are good.
But the waiting for them to land and settle into the thing they are becoming is hugely challenging for me.
And this is exacerbated by the sheer number of things in my life at the moment that are uncertain-but-about-to-be-good-news-probably.
Wow.
Just thinking about it makes me appreciate the fact that I have not yet gone stark raving mad from the not-knowing.
Anyway.
Ways this could work:
I have a very clear sense that the best way to navigate this period is to know that everything is going to happen beautifully exactly as it needs to.
As to how that actually works, no idea.
But I’m willing to learn (in ways that are helpful and not painful) how to be the person who can trust the future.
Again, not sure on the how. But I am open to finding out.
My commitment.
To do everything I can to stay connected to myself.
To be extra-aware of what I need (sleep? water? a good cry?) and treat the meeting of each need as something that is worthy of attention. A serious priority.
I’m observing my discomfort with these places of in-between. Especially when it comes to waiting for a response or feedback from other people.
And it’s time to do the work to clear out old stucknesses and hurts from similar situations in the past.
Thing 2: To rewrite my patterns around waiting.
Here’s what I want:
Related to the first ask.
I know what hasn’t worked or has sort-of-worked in the past. As well as what worked great at the time but isn’t relative now because of the “what got you here won’t get you there” principle.
So I know I’m pretty good at stuff like:
— freaking the hell out and falling apart
— gritting my teeth and pulling through somehow
— making things happen through raw determination and ambition
— making things happen through toughening up and going into survival mode
— not being present, checking out of the situation
— trying to be mindful and just observe the hard while I’m in it.
And it’s time for a new set of patterns.
How I want it to look this time:
An entirely new way of being in the state of waiting for something.
And I want it to involve faith (again) that the way things work themselves out will be something that is supportive and awesome.
My commitment.
To actively challenge my patterns.
Not in a violent way, but in an attentive, curious way. Like, what happens if we do this one thing slightly differently?
To notice when I’m doing something familiar, and then start brainstorming other options.
To use Shiva Nata to dance this out and integrate the new patterns into my body and mind.
To call on Metaphor Mouse to work some magic.
To practice Sovereignty.
To be playful with all this change when I can. And to be understanding about it when I can’t.
Thing 3: My fabulous course that does not have a name.
Here’s what I want:
Selma the duck and I are doing this program in June.
It does not have a name.
It is three days. The focus is:
Curing fear of biggification. Accessing your superpowers. Sneaking around the “I want to have more visibility but I don’t want anyone to actually see me” thing. Coming up with a plan.
It is going to be amazing.
It’s already somewhat full. I want it completely full. And full of my people. And for this to happen this week, in an easy, fun, comfortable way.
Ways this could work:
Okay. I have to remember to tell people about it.
I can write a note to my announcement list. And on the Biggification Board at my Kitchen Table program.
Or it could just happen.
In ways that have nothing to do with me.
I could give you guys the link to the program so you could look at it. Yes, that would be smart.
My commitment.
To spend time with this.
To write love letters to the program. To sit with the curriculum and see if there’s anything new that needs to come in.
To excitedly welcome the people who show up.
To dance dance dance. And then dance some more.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I asked for help maneuvering the week with a sore back. And then my back just got better. Which wasn’t what I asked for but yay. Nice.
The second thing was about staying connected to myself and not going into Internet hangover mode. That went mostly well. Except for Wednesday, which was a master class in how not to do things.
I also made a wish for a ton of people to sign up for Hiro’s Internet Hangover class, which I talked her into teaching (for me!). And it’s packed. A thousand points!
And, interestingly, my final ask was also about this whole theme of trust and faith and doing things in a new way. This week I’m taking it in a slightly different direction. We’ll see how it goes.

Comments. Since I’m already asking …
I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about what I would like to receive in the comments.
Here’s what I want (just leave them in the comments):
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!
What I would rather not have:
- Reality theories (can we avoid words like “manifest”?)
- Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
- To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given advices.
My commitment.
I am committing to getting better at asking for things even when asking feels weird.
Thanks for doing this with me!
Friday Chicken #91: I don’t even know what woozle means
Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
Seriously, Friday?
Are you sure you’re not just Wednesday playing dress-up? Man. This week was a blur.
Anyway. Hi. Friday. Welcome all Chickeneers of the High Seas. Let’s do this.
The hard stuff
The busy.
Between brunching new programs, finishing the monster coloring book on deadline, seeing clients, working on stuff for The Playground …
Things were a leetle hectic.
I still got my schleep but the mid-day naps had to go.
Editing hurts my brain. And every other part of me.
There were four ebooks in the monster package.
It was kind of exhausting.
Still waiting waiting waiting on The Playground.
The good news is that I’m not even slightly freaking out about it.
And Hope (our real estate Fairy Godmother) says things look really good. And she’s probably right.
But I will definitely let out a huge sigh of relief when we sign the lease and the last of the paperwork is taken care of.
Unexpected expenses.
A couple thousand dollars in some state tax thing that I’d thought was paid up but wasn’t.
Which went great with my not-yet-healed internal narrative of Looming Things Will Sneak Up On You Menacingly And Get You. Lovely.
Hurt my back.
Strained a muscle and was completely incapacitated. Ugh. Stupid getting older.
No one ever tells you how ridiculously inconvenient it is. And hurty. Blah, mindfulness, blah.
The good stuff
Speedy recovery!
Saturday morning I couldn’t even change my clothes because of the back pain.
But by Monday morning I was fine. Just a slight shadow of soreness.
Miraculous. And great.
The Gigantic Scary Pile of Doom and Iguanas. Is gone.
Hell yeah.
Selma and I disappeared it.
And it’s gone. Really, really gone.
And then we used Cairene’s Bite The Candy class to dispatch THREE gigantic iguanas. This feels so good. I can’t even tell you.
Getting the monster manual and coloring book out on deadline.
We worked our asses off.
And — despite all sorts of unexpected set-back-ey things, managed to get everything out the day before we’d promised it. Whew.
Also: people love it. Which is good for my monsters to know because when I came up with the idea, they were all “no, it’s totally stupid”.
Upcoming events filling crazy fast and looking to be outrageously fun.
Just three spots left in the Shiva Nata teacher training (since I hinted at its existence on Wednesday).
And not a whole lot of room left in the extremely awesome program that doesn’t have a name but is about getting over fear of visibility, accessing superpowers and coming up with a plan for mindful biggification.
Fun fun fun. I cannot wait.
Terrific discussion on sovereignty.
A really good conference call with my Group Leaders at the Kitchen Table.
On sovereignty, which is our theme this quarter. theme. So much good learning. So many great insights.
Casey was here! Again!
Super brief and I was kinda spacey because of all the stuff going on. But yay. Casey!
And Janet’s coming!
You probably know Janet too because I link to her all the time.
Janet and I have been friends for years but we never get to see each other anymore and now I get an entire weekend with her. Fabulous.
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week?
Maxine and the Whale Wails.
They’re from Wales!
And their first album is called I Think I Just Got Woozled.
Also, they rock. But it’s actually really just one guy.
And other stuff I’m thinking about …
- Terrific post from Lindsay (@gurubody) on fear, boundaries, other useful things. Plus she can write.
-
Last chance to nab the early bird for Hiro’s Internet Hangover class (note also her brilliant description of said malady in the ice cream post).
Seriously. Her methods are so unconventional and so unexpected that I can’t even stand it. Studying this with her has changed everything about how I work and how much I get done.
- If you still haven’t watched the Brewdog video for their new (and insane) beer Sink the Bismarck, it is idiotic and delightful.
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.