i am not ashamed of my life.

Coffee tastes wonderfully dirty and almost ethereal when coupled with a blueberry Clif. Breakfast of champions.

So this is the price I pay for being responsible. Single-handedly handling my own apartment, utilities, car, fuel, insurance, telephone, and groceries means I have far less money to travel with. The one thing I would choose to do, I can’t. At least not without a long, arduous saving process. Temptation teases me – should I be jealous? jealous of those with the liberty to live with their immediate family at such low cost, and the luxury of stockpiling their earnings for things such as a jaunt down to San Cristobal or Misol Ja, a sail across the North Atlantic for a holiday in Ireland?

Jealousy is not an option. Everyone must learn to take care of themselves at some time or another. This blessing for that, a commerce of pros and cons. Upon further consideration, I realize I would never trade what I have in an apartment of my own for what I might have had if I had chosen to live with my family. For one thing, it is necessary in the sharing of a family house that said family be tolerant of their adult daughter’s life and beliefs, regardless of their non-agreement with said items. I couldn’t stand to live with someone who, after countless attempts on my part to reach a ‘live-and-let-live’ truce, insisted that I either believe their way or head for the highway. I have always loved traveling…

My beloved nuclear-blue thermos has been rescued. I had left it behind at the Renaissance several weeks ago. What a tragic mistake.

Today I matched my environment -- the office colors and my outfit consisted of olive greens, gold & brass, soft whites and more stone shades.

I have GOT to eat hearty breakfasts more often. Fewer rushed, too-short mornings would aid this. Hello, old lady bedtime.


ill, and a soreness of spirit

What a weekend.

Friday started off ominously, with a little scratching of the throat and an overly warm feeling in my skin. They say this is how it starts. By three o'clock, I was no longer confident in my ability to contain myself. I was relieved of my deskly duties and allowed to go home.

The time between then and now has passed enjoyably enough...as much so as can be, considering my not really feeling up to much of anything at all. Even the writing of this post has proven a difficult undertaking. In my mind is so much energy! so many ideas! such things to do! Alas, my body is not so willing. Frustratingly weak.

City of Angels
. This film, last night, caused me to cry in a way I haven't in a long time. The fallen angel said, upon being asked if he still would have become human if he'd known his lover would die that day: "I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand...than an eternity without it. One." What kind of love is this? What kind of intensity and commitment to something outside of ones self? Inspired passion. I saw a piece of my nineteen-year-old self. Surely this couldn't have been four years ago.

I've got to stop trying to explain the world to myself, and vice versa. These rules I've created for protection only take me further from from where I actually want to be -- with my truest and oldest Friend. Tragically, I wish there were a book I could read in a span of three hundred and fifty pages that contained the solution(s) to my unplaceable doubts and fears. Yes, this means that I seek the easy way through this mess of emotion and a million people's thoughts, opinions, revelations. But this method is predicamental, as the easy way is ever-elusive, and I can't wait any longer for it.

I'm backed into a corner with nowhere else to look but straight ahead and up. Would someone for the love of God take my sword and shield away? Or at least coax gently, quietly enough that I'll give them up of my own volition? I feel too small to advance without them. Convince me, sway me. I'm fairly ready to believe anything
(given that the coaxing is adequately grounded in sound theology [what is that, again?], because Lord knows I'm quite done with ancient myths and foolish superstition).


a sea-farer i may be

Of note today >>

1. To Sea: I just may have found the ship for sailing to Europe on this summer. Ports of call include a) Miami, FL; b) Ponta Delgada, Portugal; c) Cobh (Cork), Ireland; d) Le Havre (Paris), France; e) Southampton (London), England. After landing in London, it'll be a few days of traipsing about, sampling wines and beers, and people-watching our hearts out until we fly back to the States. The trick now is securing accommodations while in London and a decently-priced flight home.

2. Pattern-Shuffle Tuesday: tablecloth blue/white plaid button-down on top of a black skirt with white tribal pictures, and set with patent black wedge sandals. There is also an unmentionable that I took for a test run all day today. In order to maintain some level of personal propriety, let me just say this: All my doubts are removed as to the workability and comfortability of this extraordinary little luxury.

3. Deferred Pleasure: I will have to wait a little longer for a lunch-date with a friend with whom I am longing to catch up on life. I tend to think that the delay will only increase my anticipation to chat with this lady; there is so much to discuss; the suspense is terribly exhilarating.

4. O Mirror, Where Art Thou? Hopefully in the back of an obliging chap's truck. He said he would give it to me for a hundred -- a 7'x3' beauty. It will have its own wall, all to itself.


berries and a denim romper

The week that just ended did so completely without my help. In fact, I'm inclined to think it intended to slip by without my noticing. Almost, Leap Week. Almost. Caught you by the Saturday.

I've found out that in order to get the fashion blog up and running, I'll need a full-sized mirror, unless I want to place my sets in natural-looking arrangements on the bed and take pictures that way. 'Twould be fun for a while, and maybe will happen occasionally, but I can't see that pleasing me for too long. Off to Craigslist...

Sold a few items at Daisy Exchange again. They gave me a store credit, which I was most excited to spend. As it turns out, after the credit was applied, I got five dresses and a little smocked denim romper for approximately $35 out-of-pocket. This method of wardrobe-updating is sitting happily with me.

Date night with Loverboy was, in two words, purely charming. Strawberry Daiquiri harkens back to the days of Mexico, luscious cheesecake (definitely didn't need to share two slices, but hey -- now we know that the Adam's Peanut Butter and the Coconut Chocolate pass the taste test [I would contend that mine, the Coconut, was the most desirable]), and a finishing off with Shrimp Scampi. We told our seafood-bearing waiter that we'd felt like eating our meal backwards, with dessert first, excusing our late arrival to the restaurant. It was his second day on the job. He served very well.

Last night, getting home, I suddenly felt the urge to listen to some scraping electric guitar and a grisly-intense voice singing out some passionate soul's heart. Some Anberlin made it to the speakers, some Collective Soul. I closed my eyes and soaked in the notes; I fairly felt the finger sequences flowing from my hands to the strings upon frets upon an instrument I've never played well, but plan to learn as soon as the cello is mastered. A song from Disciple ["Lay My Burdens"] is what finished it all off, what really did me in. What happened was very unexpected, but all the same welcomed, after some trepidation on my part regarding the addressing of sunk-deep matters of my heart, my burdens. Tears flowed. I had to let them. I was sorely tempted to swallow, raise my eyebrows, lighten my countenance, and let out a high-pitched and happy-sounding sigh. Here was another candid portrait of which I was most unfortunately afraid. My curiosity overwhelmed my fear, though, and I peeked in. It didn't kill me.

I may have begun my annual accumulation of suntan this afternoon. What joy.

Today I had berries. Lover and I concur: Berries contain the secret to happiness. Did you know that blueberries are yellowish-white on the inside, and not blue? It takes the patience to eat only half a berry at a time in order to see. This requires much self-restraint, as blueberries ask to be consumed as soon as possible. The blueberries were so fresh they popped when I bit. Dear, how I love a popping blueberry.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...