As I approached the crack of dawn this morning, I realized that battling the tossing and turning was futile. My old friend, Restlessness had dropped by for a visit. Every hour since I had fell into dreamland was marked with the memory of my alarm clock digitally mocking me. Not even two doses of melatonin could cure my racing thoughts. But what was I actually thinking about?
College.
Friendships.
Relationships.
Life.
With such heavy topics hanging over my head over the last few weeks, I wasn't surprised when 4:15 came around and I was wide awake. Finally giving in to my old pal I opened my laptop in search of a mindless activity I was hoping could lull me back to unconsciousness. 5:15 AM came and went without hesitation as I quickly ran out of things to watch and stumble upon. Defeatedly, I opened the gates and my mind poured incessant and raging thoughts into itself.
College. The current cause of both my joy and stress, my education has become the most encompassing and isolating experiences. Submerged into this wonderful program, 40+ hours a week keep me busy and surrounded with like-minded people. I am actually applying the information I am learning about in my classes immediately to my reality which, you could guess, is very rewarding. The rest of college though- the extracurriculars, sports, friends, all that jazz- is taking a decently-sized punch to the gut. I am more than pleased that I was accepted into the EFS; this is the kind of learning that everyone should be able to experience. There is just a delicate balance that must be achieved in order to be able to fit it all in, and quite frankly I'm dangling off the high wire.
With balance comes intact friendships. With dangling comes much me-time. Aside from the 14 that I see everyday and are growing to care much for, I spend a good portion of my time having to play catch-up. Over the last few weeks, the first thing out of many of my friends' mouths upon seeing them is "Where have you been all day?". Granted, I haven't printed out my schedule and hung it on my door, but it's an interesting feeling being perceived as MIA. Makes for interesting storytime, if you can match your schedules up.
Relationships are hard. Especially those that are of the long distance kind. And that is all I have to say about that.
Life?
That's a blog post for another restless night.
live simply.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Megabust
Man, nighttime travel is rough. I've been conditioned to head to dreamland between 10-12 each night, so hopping on a bus at midnight really puts a wrench in my circadian rhythms.
If you know me even a little, you are probably familiar with my anxious tendencies and my relationship with Murphy's Law. You may also be somewhat acquainted with my math skills (or lack thereof). Where an I going with this might you ask? Well, take a looksie at this here equation of doom:
Taylor + late Megabus - weather appropriate clothing - lack of arm and seat room + motionsickness = highly neurotic and ridiculously overreactive situation.
Doom and gloom I tell you!
Not necessarily, but I am pretty uncomfortable in only the first 15 minutes of my journey back to Beantown. Thus said, and my neurosis documented, I now present the ramblings of a 19-year-old with relatively mild insomnia. AKA the uncensored version of my nightly thoughts.
Home. Not a house, but a home. The majority of us understand this concept from the time we are wee ones, but defining the word in plain 'ol english is sometimes an interesting task. Sitting in the double-decker section of this dimly lit bus, the concept of home has never been clearer. Home is wherever you feel loved. You may not have a bed to sleep in, but if you have a hand to hold or arms waiting to hug you, you have a home.
Over the past year, I've discovered many homes. One, the most obvious, is my parents' house in my sleepy little town of Rollinsford. Roughly half of my life has now been spent in this town and community, and heading back to my Early clan is never an unfamiliar feeling.
Secondly, I've found a home in Brandeis. I have spent the last few months battling my own demons as well as the ones Deis has thrown at me, and although I don't always win, my heart can always find a reason to smile when I'm in Waltham. Most of that has to do with my friends, my sisters and the wonderful people I've met through the Environmental Studies department, but I'm not going to be picky about where my heart wants to hang out.
My third home is a bit mobile. Those of you with significant others will probably understand this home well. This home splits its time between New Hampshire and currently Pennsylvania, and it's the home I'm on a bus leaving. My heart always finds a home in PJ's, and I'm so thankful that his heart finds a home in mine as well.
I think this kind of home applies to friendships as well; love is pretty enveloping like that. Have you ever had the kind of friendship that feels like no time has passed between the last time you and your friend were together? You're home, whether you know it or not, when you're with the ones you love and care about. Houses are full of things, homes are full of love. It's as simple as that.
Enough for now, the motion sickness is beginning to play games with my mind. If you're up right now too, take some time to count how many homes you have and wrap yourself in all that love.
Live simply.
If you know me even a little, you are probably familiar with my anxious tendencies and my relationship with Murphy's Law. You may also be somewhat acquainted with my math skills (or lack thereof). Where an I going with this might you ask? Well, take a looksie at this here equation of doom:
Taylor + late Megabus - weather appropriate clothing - lack of arm and seat room + motionsickness = highly neurotic and ridiculously overreactive situation.
Doom and gloom I tell you!
Not necessarily, but I am pretty uncomfortable in only the first 15 minutes of my journey back to Beantown. Thus said, and my neurosis documented, I now present the ramblings of a 19-year-old with relatively mild insomnia. AKA the uncensored version of my nightly thoughts.
Home. Not a house, but a home. The majority of us understand this concept from the time we are wee ones, but defining the word in plain 'ol english is sometimes an interesting task. Sitting in the double-decker section of this dimly lit bus, the concept of home has never been clearer. Home is wherever you feel loved. You may not have a bed to sleep in, but if you have a hand to hold or arms waiting to hug you, you have a home.
Over the past year, I've discovered many homes. One, the most obvious, is my parents' house in my sleepy little town of Rollinsford. Roughly half of my life has now been spent in this town and community, and heading back to my Early clan is never an unfamiliar feeling.
Secondly, I've found a home in Brandeis. I have spent the last few months battling my own demons as well as the ones Deis has thrown at me, and although I don't always win, my heart can always find a reason to smile when I'm in Waltham. Most of that has to do with my friends, my sisters and the wonderful people I've met through the Environmental Studies department, but I'm not going to be picky about where my heart wants to hang out.
My third home is a bit mobile. Those of you with significant others will probably understand this home well. This home splits its time between New Hampshire and currently Pennsylvania, and it's the home I'm on a bus leaving. My heart always finds a home in PJ's, and I'm so thankful that his heart finds a home in mine as well.
I think this kind of home applies to friendships as well; love is pretty enveloping like that. Have you ever had the kind of friendship that feels like no time has passed between the last time you and your friend were together? You're home, whether you know it or not, when you're with the ones you love and care about. Houses are full of things, homes are full of love. It's as simple as that.
Enough for now, the motion sickness is beginning to play games with my mind. If you're up right now too, take some time to count how many homes you have and wrap yourself in all that love.
Live simply.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Click Me, Read Me, Love Me
That's kind of how human beings are, if you think about it. We spend so much time composing ourselves, adhering to social cues and expectations. We exhibit behavior we think is most suitable, and then we wait for those around us to approve.
Can we escape this tedious and anxiety-ridden process? Is unconditional love reserved for a mere few?
Curiouser and curiouser.
live simply.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Once a Blogger, Always a Feeler
For time's sake, I'm going to retire my old way of starting each blogpost, "Today was..." Going months without blogging no longer qualifies me to be able to talk about the day to day, but rather the grand scheme of moments... in more or less words.
Deciding to blog after a very long hiatus springs from a few different reasons. Primarily, I just haven't had the time to post, and I owe it to my two readers to come up with some new "Taylor Early Experiences". Another reason is living. I realized, a month or so into my blog project that it was, in fact, one of my typical phases. I become enthralled with a particular subject or task and venture to find out everything and anything about that thing. Blogging was another one of those phases.
I've always journaled, doodled, finger-painted, jotted, and more or less encapsulated my life into various, tangible forms. First a college-ruled notebook, then a pretty little book given to me as a gift, I've been penning my thoughts since I was a wee one. It was only fitting that as technology advanced, my medium of choice paralleled the movement. First came various websites that I could play with HTML code (another phase) and then Livejournal. Livejournal was precisely its namesake; your life as a journal. This electronic archive of my angsty youth chronicles the first few years of high school and their highs as well as very lows. Looking back through my posts, I've come to realize that an online presence is just that; you can't live through this persona and quantify your life in a series of line breaks.
Now, it sounds like I'm leading up to a defining moment in this post, but honestly, I am not. I've decided to blog again because even though I'm typing to a screen, writing will always be a release as well as an escape. I'll always go through phases, and some will last longer than others. But one thing will remain constant; sometimes rather than letting the feeling go, its better to just feel.
live simply.
Deciding to blog after a very long hiatus springs from a few different reasons. Primarily, I just haven't had the time to post, and I owe it to my two readers to come up with some new "Taylor Early Experiences". Another reason is living. I realized, a month or so into my blog project that it was, in fact, one of my typical phases. I become enthralled with a particular subject or task and venture to find out everything and anything about that thing. Blogging was another one of those phases.
I've always journaled, doodled, finger-painted, jotted, and more or less encapsulated my life into various, tangible forms. First a college-ruled notebook, then a pretty little book given to me as a gift, I've been penning my thoughts since I was a wee one. It was only fitting that as technology advanced, my medium of choice paralleled the movement. First came various websites that I could play with HTML code (another phase) and then Livejournal. Livejournal was precisely its namesake; your life as a journal. This electronic archive of my angsty youth chronicles the first few years of high school and their highs as well as very lows. Looking back through my posts, I've come to realize that an online presence is just that; you can't live through this persona and quantify your life in a series of line breaks.
Now, it sounds like I'm leading up to a defining moment in this post, but honestly, I am not. I've decided to blog again because even though I'm typing to a screen, writing will always be a release as well as an escape. I'll always go through phases, and some will last longer than others. But one thing will remain constant; sometimes rather than letting the feeling go, its better to just feel.
live simply.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Hey There, Brandeis Girl!
Today was AWESOME. And tiring. And exhausting. But mostly awesome.
Here, let me try to describe how I feel about Brandeis to you:
Brandeis is everything. Everything I ever looked for in life, and yet- everything else I forgot to look for too.
I hope that little description enlightened you. It certainly enlightened me.
As I made my first footsteps as a Brandesian, I was bombarded by a wave of excitement, yelling, and pure ridiculousness in the form of my overly-caffinated and under-slept Orientation Leaders, or OLs. This mob, characterized by their incessant pep and yellow t-shirts embodied Brandeis to the fullest. These hundreds of my new classmates felt so strongly about Brandeis, they wanted to welcome me and the 700 or so of the rest of my classmates with the same open arms. As a result, Orientation Week was a (mostly yellow) blur of ice breakers, changing smiles, and more ice breakers.
Classes started, and I realized that I was no longer in sleepy New Hampshire. Lecture halls filled with hundreds of students sat right alongside 20-person classes, one of which I am almost positive I am the only First Year, in my seemingly sporadic schedule. That's another thing I like about Brandeis; they call us First Years. And we have Quidditch, which I will get to later, and a castle, which I will definitely get to later. Basically I go to Hogwarts. Where my brother begins his junior-year classes at a painful 7:35 AM, none of my classes start before 11:00 AM. This is a blessing as well as a curse. I find myself surpassing my old sleep schedule by hours and getting more REM, but my day rarely ends before 6:00 PM. It is the strangest thing having a class or lecture for 1) only 50 minutes and 2) at 5:00 at night. I find myself walking into my writing seminar as my siblings are walking off the soccer field, and that has been a major adjustment to get used to.
By now, most people have heard of the movie "The Roommate". Since the horror film came out relatively close to the time I was being accepted to college, I made the conscious decision to not put myself through that psychological torture. Besides choosing Brandeis, not watching that movie potentially is the best decision I've ever made. Now approaching my actual point, I am extremely lucky to have ended up on Ren. 3. The people I live with are fantastic. Borderline psychotic, but absolutely wonderful, the residents of my floor reaffirm why I chose Brandeis; they've opened their arms wide to my neuroticism and only pulled me closer. In the month or so that I have been at Deis (I'll most likely be using that more often, it comes out in conversation easier than "Brandeis", plus i like nicknames), I have never been myself more. If you have ever read this blog, you understand how big of a deal my last statement is. If you haven't, I suggest you go back. :)
College is hard. There is a lot of reading. And by a lot I mean an incomprehensible amount. There is no humanly way I can read every piece of material at the magnitude I am being given. This is probably the first time you will see a legitimate math concept make its way onto my blog- any other time I will most likely be making things up (I should probably become a Physics major or something). The relationship my reading and I have goes a little something like this:
amt. of reading*n= n^h where n= number of classes and h= hours per class
I lied. There is no way that was legit.
But back to being Brandesian. (Can I just mention how much I love how alliteration makes its way into my daily life? I LOVE IT.) It is probably the best thing that has happened to me. Sure, the course load is alot (<-- click this, you will (probably) regret it. most likely not. or maybe.) to handle, but I'm learning and liking what I'm learning! Okay, I'm not completely satisfied with my schedule, but that's the great thing about college; you take classes and sometimes they suck but they fulfill requirements, and then you're all done with them! AND WE HAVE A CASTLE. And from my window, I can look over at Chapels Field and watch Quidditch. I'm a huge fan of this college thing.
As I am en route back to my palace, since the motion sickness is starting to set in I think I'll wrap it up here. It's somewhat unrealistic for me to try blogging daily again, but weekly is starting to look like a possibility. Then I can share the ridiculous happenings of Renfield 3 with the blogosphere, which you will most likely not understand, but hopefully appreciate anyways.
A little preface to my pictures: where this blog is not a legitimate journal, I've decided not to share personal details about my romantic life. But that's where it's awesome- I have a romantic life! And I like to take pictures of it. And I'm okay with being barf-tastic. Life is good.
"The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when they discover that someone else believes in them and is willing to trust them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
Here, let me try to describe how I feel about Brandeis to you:
Brandeis is everything. Everything I ever looked for in life, and yet- everything else I forgot to look for too.
I hope that little description enlightened you. It certainly enlightened me.
As I made my first footsteps as a Brandesian, I was bombarded by a wave of excitement, yelling, and pure ridiculousness in the form of my overly-caffinated and under-slept Orientation Leaders, or OLs. This mob, characterized by their incessant pep and yellow t-shirts embodied Brandeis to the fullest. These hundreds of my new classmates felt so strongly about Brandeis, they wanted to welcome me and the 700 or so of the rest of my classmates with the same open arms. As a result, Orientation Week was a (mostly yellow) blur of ice breakers, changing smiles, and more ice breakers.
Classes started, and I realized that I was no longer in sleepy New Hampshire. Lecture halls filled with hundreds of students sat right alongside 20-person classes, one of which I am almost positive I am the only First Year, in my seemingly sporadic schedule. That's another thing I like about Brandeis; they call us First Years. And we have Quidditch, which I will get to later, and a castle, which I will definitely get to later. Basically I go to Hogwarts. Where my brother begins his junior-year classes at a painful 7:35 AM, none of my classes start before 11:00 AM. This is a blessing as well as a curse. I find myself surpassing my old sleep schedule by hours and getting more REM, but my day rarely ends before 6:00 PM. It is the strangest thing having a class or lecture for 1) only 50 minutes and 2) at 5:00 at night. I find myself walking into my writing seminar as my siblings are walking off the soccer field, and that has been a major adjustment to get used to.
By now, most people have heard of the movie "The Roommate". Since the horror film came out relatively close to the time I was being accepted to college, I made the conscious decision to not put myself through that psychological torture. Besides choosing Brandeis, not watching that movie potentially is the best decision I've ever made. Now approaching my actual point, I am extremely lucky to have ended up on Ren. 3. The people I live with are fantastic. Borderline psychotic, but absolutely wonderful, the residents of my floor reaffirm why I chose Brandeis; they've opened their arms wide to my neuroticism and only pulled me closer. In the month or so that I have been at Deis (I'll most likely be using that more often, it comes out in conversation easier than "Brandeis", plus i like nicknames), I have never been myself more. If you have ever read this blog, you understand how big of a deal my last statement is. If you haven't, I suggest you go back. :)
College is hard. There is a lot of reading. And by a lot I mean an incomprehensible amount. There is no humanly way I can read every piece of material at the magnitude I am being given. This is probably the first time you will see a legitimate math concept make its way onto my blog- any other time I will most likely be making things up (I should probably become a Physics major or something). The relationship my reading and I have goes a little something like this:
amt. of reading*n= n^h where n= number of classes and h= hours per class
I lied. There is no way that was legit.
But back to being Brandesian. (Can I just mention how much I love how alliteration makes its way into my daily life? I LOVE IT.) It is probably the best thing that has happened to me. Sure, the course load is alot (<-- click this, you will (probably) regret it. most likely not. or maybe.) to handle, but I'm learning and liking what I'm learning! Okay, I'm not completely satisfied with my schedule, but that's the great thing about college; you take classes and sometimes they suck but they fulfill requirements, and then you're all done with them! AND WE HAVE A CASTLE. And from my window, I can look over at Chapels Field and watch Quidditch. I'm a huge fan of this college thing.
As I am en route back to my palace, since the motion sickness is starting to set in I think I'll wrap it up here. It's somewhat unrealistic for me to try blogging daily again, but weekly is starting to look like a possibility. Then I can share the ridiculous happenings of Renfield 3 with the blogosphere, which you will most likely not understand, but hopefully appreciate anyways.
A little preface to my pictures: where this blog is not a legitimate journal, I've decided not to share personal details about my romantic life. But that's where it's awesome- I have a romantic life! And I like to take pictures of it. And I'm okay with being barf-tastic. Life is good.
live simply.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Day 14: Holy Two Weeks Left!
Today was bright. The sun woke me up, like always and I started my morning with a sense of refreshment. I already have most of my room in boxes (as of two weeks from now I will no longer be a permanent resident of the Early household/ my brother closest to me will be moving into the room formerly known as Taylor's) and I just have a couple loads of laundry to do until I will be nearly completely living out of boxes. It's a very strange feeling- packing up your entire life. To see all my memories and belongings reduced to cardboard and duct tape, it's foreign. Exciting, but foreign.
As the day hasn't shown itself completely to me yet (it's not even 9:00 as I write this), this post will most likely be shorter than usual, so I'll load it up with some pictures! I went through my old posts and I realized it's been a while since I've strutted my camera's stuff on here. So let the fun begin!
live simply.
As the day hasn't shown itself completely to me yet (it's not even 9:00 as I write this), this post will most likely be shorter than usual, so I'll load it up with some pictures! I went through my old posts and I realized it's been a while since I've strutted my camera's stuff on here. So let the fun begin!
live simply.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Day 15: Let's Start It All Over Again
Today was incredible. Quite honestly, I can't believe I let sixty days of my life slip by without even an inkling in the blogosphere. I realize that I have once again failed my mission. I tried to blog about my last days as a high school student, and essentially the last days of my childhood but I found that I got caught up in living the minutes, hours, days. Each second passed and I was actually living it, not spending my precious time (as I have come to think of it) writing about it. I laughed, I cried- I went through the menagerie of quintessential graduation emotions, and I came out on the other end. I always used to say that I felt as though I would be in high school forever. Well thank whatever thing that is swirling around the universe up there, cause I'm glad I'm no longer a student and rather an alum. In the sixty days that I have spent since I penned my last thoughts on here, I've felt myself go through this tremendous growth. I've felt myself become free from the grueling restraints of high school drama, I've swept the dusty memories of regret and pain out from the recesses of my mind, and I have picked up the shell of what high school left me as and filled it with myself again.
It's been quite some time since I've felt like me. Like actually, undoubtedly, unabashedly me. This feeling of rebirth, its unbelievable. In the past I've tried to say that I stand upon my own two feet with disregard for those who look down upon me. And you know what? I tried my best. But in all sincerity of the words, high school chews you up and spits you out like no other. I'm grateful for some of the people who have come into my life as a result of my years as a little-baby freshman, a not-so-low-on-the-totem-pole sophomore, a frantic-college-plaqued junior, and a senior with that strut in her step and that slight tear in her heart. And I'd like to say that I'm not so thankful for those who caused my teenage angst and the downward spiral of my self-esteem, but I'm thankful for those assholes too (please pardon my language, it's honestly a very fitting superlative). Without the loops I've been thrown for or the land mines that have blown up in my face, I quite frankly would not be the same person typing this post at 3:20 A.M. on a cool August morning. So thanks, assholes- thank you very much.
In the last sixty days, I've changed. Sure, I'm still the same anxiety-ridden, over-analytical, neurotic blogger that I was June 11th, but I stand on my own size 7 1/2 feet. The last sixty days have anchored me into the person that I know I can become. I know the sentence previous doesn't make sense upon first read, but if you think in the more philosophical sense of your self, you may (or may not) understand what I'm trying to convey. This grounding, this mooring to reality has made me realize how much of myself I sent packing as I walked the halls of SHS. The amount is astounding, and the description of a hollow casing? Somewhat, quite accurate. I can't say that my high school experience as a whole completely ravaged my being; Honors English IV with Mr. Mack was an honor, my A&P courses with Ms. Handy taught me so much more than just about the human body, and my 3rd blocks spent in the library made me realize that there really are wonderful, good people out there- you just have to open your eyes as well as your heart. The final chapter of my high school story exponentially outweighs the ones previous, and it lead ever so nicely into the novella of my summer. Unbeknownst to me, opening your eyes is a pretty legitimate way to make friendships, and even more astounding was the revelation about an open heart. This summer, while it's not yet over, has been one for the books. And by books I mean the Sarah Dessen kind. This summer (or That Summer, hehe) has been one of many firsts. The first time I was assigned a summer reading book since I was in grade school, the first time I had to choose my own classes sincerely on my own, the first time I had to be a grown up about money and real-world stuff, and the first time that I jumped and someone caught me. Now, I've learned my lesson; kissing and telling is a rookie mistake. But I will say that if I had known that all the trials and tribulations of yesteryears would lead to this incredible person, I would have sucked it up with a smile. I will also say that I so desperately wish this blog was a personal journal, if for only a few minutes, so I could gush and be mushy and such. In all honesty, I am the happiest I have been in a very, very long time. I never believed the cliche "waking up with a smile and falling asleep the same way" but folks, my cheeks are surely getting a workout. The timing could not have been more horrible and perfect. Summer is almost over, but I am just getting started.
"In all things nature, there is something of the marvelous." -Aristotle
live simply.
It's been quite some time since I've felt like me. Like actually, undoubtedly, unabashedly me. This feeling of rebirth, its unbelievable. In the past I've tried to say that I stand upon my own two feet with disregard for those who look down upon me. And you know what? I tried my best. But in all sincerity of the words, high school chews you up and spits you out like no other. I'm grateful for some of the people who have come into my life as a result of my years as a little-baby freshman, a not-so-low-on-the-totem-pole sophomore, a frantic-college-plaqued junior, and a senior with that strut in her step and that slight tear in her heart. And I'd like to say that I'm not so thankful for those who caused my teenage angst and the downward spiral of my self-esteem, but I'm thankful for those assholes too (please pardon my language, it's honestly a very fitting superlative). Without the loops I've been thrown for or the land mines that have blown up in my face, I quite frankly would not be the same person typing this post at 3:20 A.M. on a cool August morning. So thanks, assholes- thank you very much.
In the last sixty days, I've changed. Sure, I'm still the same anxiety-ridden, over-analytical, neurotic blogger that I was June 11th, but I stand on my own size 7 1/2 feet. The last sixty days have anchored me into the person that I know I can become. I know the sentence previous doesn't make sense upon first read, but if you think in the more philosophical sense of your self, you may (or may not) understand what I'm trying to convey. This grounding, this mooring to reality has made me realize how much of myself I sent packing as I walked the halls of SHS. The amount is astounding, and the description of a hollow casing? Somewhat, quite accurate. I can't say that my high school experience as a whole completely ravaged my being; Honors English IV with Mr. Mack was an honor, my A&P courses with Ms. Handy taught me so much more than just about the human body, and my 3rd blocks spent in the library made me realize that there really are wonderful, good people out there- you just have to open your eyes as well as your heart. The final chapter of my high school story exponentially outweighs the ones previous, and it lead ever so nicely into the novella of my summer. Unbeknownst to me, opening your eyes is a pretty legitimate way to make friendships, and even more astounding was the revelation about an open heart. This summer, while it's not yet over, has been one for the books. And by books I mean the Sarah Dessen kind. This summer (or That Summer, hehe) has been one of many firsts. The first time I was assigned a summer reading book since I was in grade school, the first time I had to choose my own classes sincerely on my own, the first time I had to be a grown up about money and real-world stuff, and the first time that I jumped and someone caught me. Now, I've learned my lesson; kissing and telling is a rookie mistake. But I will say that if I had known that all the trials and tribulations of yesteryears would lead to this incredible person, I would have sucked it up with a smile. I will also say that I so desperately wish this blog was a personal journal, if for only a few minutes, so I could gush and be mushy and such. In all honesty, I am the happiest I have been in a very, very long time. I never believed the cliche "waking up with a smile and falling asleep the same way" but folks, my cheeks are surely getting a workout. The timing could not have been more horrible and perfect. Summer is almost over, but I am just getting started.
"In all things nature, there is something of the marvelous." -Aristotle
live simply.
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