coming home.

hello everyone.
i still write sometimes.



So, Merry Christmas to you all. I can hardly believe that it is nearly over already.

It is one of the tragedies of teenagerdom when Christmas stops feeling like Christmas. When the light in your eyes on that bright morning is traded in for a few more hours of sleeping, you know something's changed. It hurts a little bit to think about how much anticipation you used to feel winding up inside of you while you counted down the days. Christmas eve was weeks long all by itself. At 6AM exactly, if not earlier, you tumbled through hallways, down stairs, and over siblings to arrive chaotically at the very moment you'd been waiting for since December 26th of the year preceding.

Things have changed so much.

And for the last couple of years, the "spirit of Christmas" has taken a vacation from my heart. In 2005, he came and looked around and found only sadness and the scattered pieces of tragedy in our home. I think he got a little shaken, and stayed away for a year longer just to be safe. But here, in 2007, he's crept into my heart again to take up residence.

Mom and I were listening to the song "Christmas Time is Here" in the car on the way home last night. As Sarah Brightman crooned soft words like, "...sleighbells in the air, beauty everywhere, yuletide by the fireside, and joyful memories there," Mom was sighing and saying "That's just not true." My heart objected at first, but simultaneously I knew she was right. Step one: walk into the mall. Step two: open your eyes. That's all you have to do to see the anxiety and hopelessness that vies for our attention this time of year. So many people are aching, it feels impossible to believe in "happiness and cheer."

I considered this, but what I said was, "It's true for me."

Because, aside from the obvious lack of sleighbells, and the fact that I don't know what "yuletide" means, the warmth and brightness that the carols proclaim is at least a little bit living inside of me this year, for reasons that I am maybe starting to understand. I've spent hours in the mall in these past two weeks, face to face with hurting humanity. And yet, I feel beauty. I feel happiness. I feel merry!

And I think it is at least partly because I am home.
Because I am not exhausted.
Because I have spent time with the ones I love.
Because I have time to step back and think about what is happening now, and not just what will happen next.

Although, I have thought about that, too.

I have thought about Oglethorpe, and scholarships, and what will I do for school next semester?
I have thought about how I should be writing essays, reading books, and calling people back.
I have thought about emails I need to write, projects in my lap, and things I should do sometime soon.


And I have gotten things done in moving toward those things. That feels nice, to say the least.


So, I don't know what the point is. When do I ever know?

But, what I know is that I am sad to be looking at the last hour and fifty-seven minutes of Christmas Day, 2007.
I have been like a little kid again this year more than the last several, I think.

I want to grow up into being as childlike as possible: one who trusts fully, laughs easily, and risks willingly. One who loves Christmas, always.


Maybe that's the point.


Anyway. In other news,
Christmas at the Morgan home was simpler this year than it has been in the past, and I still am managing to walk away with my arms full of wonderful things.

Among these are a new royal blue peacoat from J. Crew and a pair of American Eagle ballerina flats to match them (courtesy of my sweet boyfriend who pays attention when I find things I like). Also, an emerald colored cashmere sweater and a pair of black low-top converse- both of which I had been stealing from my mother but now have for my very own! Hooray! And, a purple button-up sweater, an itunes gift card, beautiful-smelling velvet tuberose body spray, the traditional bag o' candy, soft soft socks from eddie bauer, and an argyle scarf which I shall likely return to buy rainboots instead! WHICH REMINDS ME. I also got these incredible black leather high-heeled boots, which actually have been known to speak when I walk into a room. They usually say something like, "Annie has entered the building," or "Hello. You wish you had these shoes." Or sometimes they just sing, "Dontcha" by the Pussycat Dolls. It just depends on the room.

To top all this off, a softandfluffy dog from Coldwater Creek. He is actually more pillow than dog. I carry him places, just because he makes me happy.

As I told Samuel, stuffed animals are good for the soul.

As long as they are not actual animals.

Anyway. All that to say that I'm almost embarrassed to admit everything I have been given. It is so much.
My life is so beautiful because of the people in it. For them, I'd give everything I have been given and all the world more.

Like, my cousin who writes beautiful musics and sings them for us on Christmas day.
Like, my mother who desires to give us everything, and does (without knowing).
Like, my best friend whose life parallels my own so that we are knit together in heart, year by year.
Like, my brother who always wants to play.
Like, my sister who is coming alive.
Like, my boyfriend who is also my best friend; who gives me old books.
Like, my counselor who is so full of life and light.
Like, my Jesus.

Beautiful.


In other news,
Johnny has found a new way to be funny. (We thought he had reached his limit.)

Whenever someone does something dumb, or ridiculous, he pretends to have interviewed them in the past tense.

"When asked why he was hitting a blowtorch with a hammer, he said he 'thought it would a'splode.'"

Funny.


Okay. This is the end.

Merry Christmas, everyone. :)

rush.

Hello, again.



November is drawing me away from my running, busy, rush of a life and into her rainy cold arms. I go willingly. The thrilling blue that was the sky today is beautiful in so many ways, but it is the rain that makes me sigh.

Leaving work on Monday, the steeple of the church in Lawrenceville's downtown square was masked by the frigid mist. It looked absolutely like a photograph, and it won my heart. I want rain for days straight, until my fingers are wrinkled and my hair is curling with all the freezing cold wetness in the air. I crave more of those gray skies, with low mist engulfing all our buildings. We'll be walking in clouds, breathing white and swirling breaths in front of our faces; we'll be damp, cold, and rained on, but I will be so at home.

Because sometimes my heart just asks for rain, and will have no substitute.
In Georgia, this is a predicament for obvious reasons.


And so, when two days of bitter cold precipitation drifted down from the shrouded skies, I got a taste of what I didn't know I wanted. Now I want more.

Although, I will say,
today was glorious. November, altogether, is wonderful.

Now. I have a sentence or two to toss into the pile of inconclusive thoughts.


I have become so well-acquainted with this life I've been living since September. Within the first week of that month, I was officially taking all my classes and starting my new job, in addition to all the familiar things of church, family, dating, and friends. Suddenly, I was leaving my house at seven in the morning and getting home at eleven PM. I have wanted to fall apart more than once; everything changed so much, so fast, or so it felt. But I've kind of come to be on good terms with this busyness. I sleep enough, I eat enough, I don't cry alone in my car every day- I am alright. But somehow, as old questions find answers, my heart finds new questions.

I wonder if I have forgotten how to be still.

I've been home tonight with my family, just doing whatever. We ate and watched a movie, and I wandered up into the kitchen to do the dishes. Once that was done, I found myself pacing the hardwood floors, turning over possible to-do lists in my head. Homework was the obvious choice, but I wanted to let myself rest a little. I wobbled back and forth between "restful options" for like, ten minutes. Somehow, that didn't feel like relaxation. Somewhere in me, some little administrative assistant was chanting things about how I can't just go to sleep for eleven hours, and I shouldn't just eat dessert whenever I feel like it, and what's the point in taking a hot bath when I have so many things that I should be addressing, or doing, or solving? I bought new stationery, but I can't sit still enough to write on it. I have shelves of good books, but all my mind wants to talk about is how I should be doing something productive or "good for me."

Altogether, it is a very overwhelming chorus of seemingly well-meaning ideation experts who all seem to know exactly what I should and should not do.

I wonder, also, if I have forgotten how to seek community.

There is a line from an Azure Ray song appropriately entitled "November" that goes like this,
"I was afraid to be alone, but now I'm scared that's how I like to be."

I think that's how I feel sometimes. It's no good, my beloved audience, and do you know why? Because both ways, I end up filled with fear. I'm either "afraid to be alone," or "scared that's how I like to be."

But what if it is how I like to be? It's an intimidating thought, you know?

So many things press in on my heart and mind these days, and always. And I know it's not just me. I know that human experience is all at once both commoner and more diverse than we think. Because everyone has felt alone, or scared, or has loved the cold November rain- but not everyone finds the same answers at the ends of their questions. We connect, but we are not the same.


And so, these are my questions, my unfinished thoughts. Thank you if you've read this far. I have a lot of words in me tonight.


Little Things of Happiness:

1. Leaf cyclones, and the wind. I smile at them all the time. The wind feels so playful in cold weather.

2. Red sprinkles on top of whipped cream and hot coffee. It's good for you.

3. Mornings. Once I am on my way toward living the day, I enjoy them very much. Before that, eh. Who likes that feeling, anyway?


This computer is hungry, and I'm headed for hot chocolate of some variety, I think, so I think I'll be done for now.

Sleep sweetly, world. Thank you, again, for looking in on my unfinishedness. Don't forget, you can always comment... :)

follow your bliss.

I have to admit, I have been reluctant to show my face here.


Days pile on top of days piling on top of me and my words, and I get lost in the shuffle of it all. It is not a shimmery business, this writing thing. Sometimes it feels like owning a very personable animal. When you take it daily to walk with you, to experience the life that you experience, it is well-mannered and pleasureable. The silent conversations between the two of you will be easy and intrinsically understood. If, however, you stop having time for these walks and conversations, your playmate will become flighty and unpredictable. One moment, she's by your side, and, in the middle of a sentence, she'll suddenly be gone, as though she has decided not to exist. But while she's busy not-existing, you're on hands and knees at the scene of her immaterialization, frantically searching out the sidewalks for a trace of her.

She may or may not fly back to you.

Probably, if you wait, she'll come around in the end.


So, that, friends, is the precarious position in which I choose to place myself for the sake of words strung together on a computer screen.

Why?



I saw a movie tonight called August Rush.

I'm not even sure where to begin. So much of the story in this film echoes around in the spaces of my heart. Before it was even over, I trusted it to be one of my very favorite movies, second only to The Village. It was a fairytale, a true story and a love story. I can usually recognize a good movie by how involved I feel while I'm watching it. It is so rare to watch something and feel literally as though your insides are on the edges of their seats. It wasn't suspense, really, so much as it was just that I cared about what would happen to these people on the screen. So often, I'll realize somewhere halfway through the movie that I don't really care anymore. Who lives, who dies, who gets married, or who gets thrown into a pit of leeches- it all just feels meaningless. I'm not involved. But with a really good movie, I can feel the very center of me being all wound up and tangled with the concerns and causes of the characters on screen. It feels kind of like having your fists clenched, internally.

This is how I felt during August Rush. I want to explain why, but I really, really just want you to see it. It will hopefully make clear to you the feeling I'm talking about, while also answering the question I asked earlier- why on earth do I keep writing?

Why did my dad leave a well-paid job that he really liked to be a not-so-well-paid music minister at a church?
Why did my mom home school her three children when it would have made so much more sense not to?
Why do I believe so truly in a person I cannot see?

So. It's a beautiful movie. Go see it. And then report back to me with thoughts.


Other than this,

1. It's raining. I wish it would do so for fourteen days straight.

2. It's November. I can't believe how quickly time urges us forward. I wish it were colder. I love this month. I want to be married in a November.

3. I just wrote 4. instead of 3. I need sleeping. Much sleeping. Hooray for holidays! I still have to work on Saturday though. I'm a big fan of paychecks, though, so I'll refrain from my complaining.

4. Happy Thanksgiving. Not turkey-day. Some people eat ham. I am not one of them, but it's always prudent to remember the less fortunate.

5. Lalo is singing goodnight songs to me. He is saying, "Please, either talk to me or turn out the lights, babycakes. I can't be listening to you type all night long." Coincidentally, this song sounds quite similar to the, "Get up, dang it!" song, and also the "I'm in love with you! Forsake your boyfriend and fly away with me for all eternity!" song. He is a very expressive bird.


So, those are my words for tonight. Goodnight world. I wish for days when writing here will be weekly again, you know? I miss you all.

hither and yon.

How do I begin?

Finally I am here again. It seems I always come back when I am too full to keep holding all my observations in just my heart's two hands. Actually, I think my heart may have far more hands than two. I plow through days and days of life-happenings without giving it a real chance to stop and sort through what it carries. That awkward conversation, this look in his eyes, and the homeless man on the street all stretch out open hands toward my heart like abandoned children- waiting for someone to do something about their existence. I get so filled over the span of my days, I lose count of the anythings and everythings that I'm supposed to be thinking about.

Erin sent me a message via myspace today, with pictures of us making memories before a Copeland show we went to back in 9th grade.

I smiled at first, and read past the pictures to the end of the message.
But then, I got stuck.

Scrolling back up, I let my eyes just sink into that photograph. I must've seen it fifty times before, but something about it landed right in the middle of me tonight. In the background, my daddy was playing acoustic guitar and singing the song he wrote for me when I was little. Just then, it was like my heart looked at all the many, many things in all her hands and shook her head sadly. Somewhere in me, I got caught between then and now. Who I have been and who I have become.

There is so much tension in this transition.

Because, I miss the girl who looks back at me from that picture. But I think I only miss her because I don't know how to live in the world I have stepped into. I walk through crowds of people whose faces are veiled and undisclosed to me, and I don't know how to meet their glance with mine. I go to malls alone and buy clothes alone and eat alone and walk through rainy, damp parking decks alone. Alone because there's no one else shopping at Lenox? I assure you, no. Alone in a crowd; we are alone together.

What is hard about this is not that I'm not always with someone. I can be perfectly happy on my own. It is a question of belonging, of having a place.

If only I had this worked out within myself. Then maybe I could make sense of it on your behalf. But it is so unclear and messy to me, so gritty and unrefined, that probably most of my thoughts on the subject will be the same.

Here is sort of how it feels,

You live in the same house for the first 10 years of your life. Then you move. A month later, you come back to see how the new owners have taken ahold of your old place. Within moments, you're in tears. Unbeknownst to your mental faculties, your heart is overwhelmed by the feelings of no longer knowing what wall your bed used to face because your room is now an office. Or of your closet being re-carpeted from where your dog once destroyed it. These are your memories; this was your place. Now, where can you stand? Even just sitting on these unfamiliar couches is strange- it is time to move on.

That feeling is, in addition to being inexplicable, very, very hard.

I think it's got something to do with growing up.
I know it does.


Anyway, it seems much of my thinking is melancholy these days. Sorry if this is less fun. (:

It would be no good if I didn't write from where I am.


In addition to this,

Things to Smile About:

1. Raspberry Milk is excellent. I tried it on a whim the other night. I made it myself using raspberry syrup. Definitely recommended.

2. New Dresses. I am going on a 5th-monthiversary/going away to BJYUK date this Friday and needed something snappy to wear. Dates are snappy events. So, I found the American Apparel store next to Lenox mall today and went bravely in to face the brazen advertisements in favor of a greater cause. After much deliberation and conversing with a very hairy young man, I emerged victorious. The brilliant thing about this dress is that you can wear it more than fifteen different ways. I've been wanting one since my lovely Ashley friend showed me the two she has. They are lifechanging. click here, ignore the sketchy models, and watch the video. AMAZING.

3. 5th-monthiversary dates. This gets its own smile. I'm happy.:)

4. Happy parents. This one I am adding in lieu of the fact that my mom just came chasing my dad up the stairs from the basement, exploding with laughter. A beautiful sound, and even more fun to watch.

Now, it is time to consider showering and sleeping.
Thank you for being here.

and p.s.:



good days. :)

though i feel alone.

Today has been so strange.

I have this ache in my heart that I cannot seem to make myself tumble through, or over, or around. You know what I mean? There are pains and bruises that you can make friends with, and live on the edges of, until they wane away. Not this one. This pain wraps itself around my heart like the rain on my windshield this afternoon; softly, at first, and then the bottom falls out. I left school today and drove to Five Guys and parked. I didn't want a hamburger. I didn't know what I wanted. In the background, Fernando Ortega quietly played. There is a line in one of his songs that goes, "And when I am alone, when I am alone, and when I am alone...Give me Jesus."

Something in me tripped and fell to the ground, and I began to cry. There, parked on the outskirts of the Atlanta perimeter, I couldn't help but feel so by myself. People walked by on the outside and didn't glance up to see the girl who was crying in the driver's seat of her Buick. I don't know what I wanted them to do, I guess. Half of me wished somebody would go in and buy my lunch, just to show that they had seen me.

Loneliness is just so unfamiliar to me.

My life has always been a veritable inundation of social opportunities. I'm not used to feeling alone in a crowd. It used to be such a breathe-again kind of feeling when I went places where no one knew me all that well. I could be just another face to pass on the sidewalk, or a casual-but-interesting first-meeting. It was a thrill to be able to isolate myself, if only for a little while.

Today did not feel this way. Today I longedfor something- I'm not sure what. A heart-stirring conversation with someone whom I could trust. A confident look in the eyes from a wide-open face. To cry with someone, and not alone in my car.

I'm not sure how to think about this.


Something in my heart feels amiss, and I don't know where to turn.
Maybe it's just for today.


Another thought.

It rained today. On my way in when I got home from school, I was loaded down with any-and-everything that had been lying around in the front seat of my car. In order to not have to make two trips through the wet, I had gathered up a hundred million pounds of books and sweaters and cups and whatever else I had brought with me this morning. As I stepped out into the downpour, I was a snowplow, a steam engine; I would not be stopped.

However.

I was.

A butterfly was perching on the side of one of the cars in our driveway, most likely trying to not get pelted in the storm. It occurred to me, for some reason, that it would probably not resist the idea of being re-located to just about anywhere. Offering my middle finger as a possible solution to the issue, I watched in complete captivation as he unhesitatingly accepted the offer.

So, for lack of any better idea as to what I'd do after having made this new friend, I tip-toed inside and set everything down on the counter to spend some time watching him open and close his wings. Eventually, after showing some family members and letting him climb up the bridge of my nose and into my hair, I watched him carry himself away. What a beautiful way to spend ten minutes of my day.

And it occurred to me.

God is like this.

You're plowing through your day, carrying everything you can possibly carry, and with plenty of things to do, but still, you see him. Like an open ended question, he's waiting in the rain. The holy spirit, when you stop to offer your hand, will lead you to somehow find yourself, all your burdens settled on some remote countertop, with you staring straight in the face of something beautiful. Spend time there, and when it is gone, the powder from its wings will still cover you.

Is this not the way he works?


Anyway.

I wonder if anyone still reads here...
I know I write so little these days.


Thank you to the ones who are still here.

I hope to see you soon.

oh, inconsistent me.

I danced today.



One of my favorite parts of this whole experience was in coming out at the end on the first service to be greeted by my best friend. Now, Julisa is far from being what you could call a "physical" person. She doesn't give obtuse amounts of physical affection, to anyone. She sort of just...lets me hug her, on a regular basis. But when she found me in the church lobby this morning, after having seen me dance, she threw her arms around me and held on tight, exclaiming bright words about how wonderful I was. What I loved was how she said, "I was so happy for you. I know it's what you've always wanted to do."

In some pretty corner of my heart, I treasure the fact that she knows this about me. How many people in your life actually really know your story? I have this intricate and beautiful framework to how I have come to the place of being on the dance team, being a dancer, but really so few people have any idea that it exists. I'm okay with this. Not all stories are story-book stories, for all the world to greet. Some are stories to whisper backstage and behind closed doors, while eye-to-eye and in careful moments with the ones who know you best. I'm not even sure if I have explained the whole story to anyone completely, really. But Julisa has watched me decide, undecide,and re-decide to be on the dance team for years. Actually, she's probably relieved that the reign of uncertainty is coming to an end. Her knowledge of my backstory, and the fact that I trust her implicitly with such information, is what ribbons our hearts together so inseparably. We know each other.


Anyway. I just stumbled across those thoughts as I sat down to forge through the attic in my head, trying to sort out the unwrittenness of the last few weeks.

Which brings me to my next thought.


I'd like to publish the following message to the general public of people I love:

I know we need to hang out. I know I say that a lot. I miss you too. I still love you. Don't give up on me yet.


Okay. Now. If you've been trying to contact me at any point in time for like, say, the last month, this applies to you. Or if you just feel neglected and like I wouldn't even know your favorite color anymore if someone asked. I do. Try me. I'm just learning to live at a new speed of life.

I mean, honestly.

So much has changed. Example:

I used to go to bed between midnight and two AM, and get up between nine and eleven.
I now go to bed between ten-thirty and one AM, and get up between 5:45 and 7:30 AM.
I used to be out of my house for church, miscellaneous appointments, and hanging out on weekends.
I am now out of my house for an average of eight hours, often more than twelve, almost every day.
I used to babysit every now and then for cash.
I now work 24+ hours a week in a Customer Care office.
I used to drive a half-hour to church and back several times a week.
I now drive a half hour to church, 40 minutes to work, and an hour and 15 minutes to school, on various days of the week. Without traffic.
I used to have all the time in the world for schoolwork.
I now have whatever time is left over between working, driving, being at school, and church.

SO.

This is not to prove to you that my life is busier than yours. My life is actually prettyokay compared to like, most of the people I know. This is to show that the reason I have been buried beneath a fortress of busyness is because I have never done this before. I have never been a part of the college, corporate world. Traffic to me was what happened when someone got into a wreck. The eighty bucks a week I spend in gas would have been enough to last me a month in a previous life. It is all so utterly different from the "normal" colors of my world. I spend most of my time trying to understand the chemistry and paradoxical grind of "what I want to do" and "what I need/have to do." And yes, in the midst of all this, I really do miss the people that should be the loudest sounds in my life-symphony. But I am hoping above hope that there will be a way to keep at least a hand above water so I can hold on to them. I like the circumstances of my life. But I love the people in my life.

That said...
I should probably go do homework.
Maybe I will let myself sleep.
But I wanted to do this first.

Love to you all. Thank you for reading.

:)

weighted words.

I have a few things on my mind.



Mostly you could say they all come back to the general idea of first loves.

Which is unusual. Everybody knows how this works. Annie sits down to write with a hundred scattered-and-completely-unrelated ideas and considerations and somehow relays all-or-most of them within a 5-10 paragraph thoughtsplosion. Any method which could possibly be employed to line up aforementioned ideas in some kind of sensible outline (lists, bullets, numbering, etc.) is readily at hand. With reason in one hand and a fistful of tangled musings in the other, I usually just go at it.

And I guess you could pretty much expect the same this time around.

So, by "general idea" I think I really mean to say "I'm pretty much gonna still talk about whatever I want."

So. A list? Quite.


Thought 1: Cycles frustrate me. Actually, I am beginning to believe that cycles have frustrated everyone who has ever been caught in one. No one likes the "two steps forward, three steps back" feeling. If I ever found someone who did, he could have my share, and probably everyone else's, gratis. But the thing is, nobody wants that. Nobody wants to feel like they are caught by something from which they have no ability to free themselves. In particular, I am thinking of this as it pertains to me and music.

Always, it seems, someone is asking me, "Do you ever play (insert instrument name here) anymore?" To which I reply, "Not really, I just don't have any time."

Almost invariably, the reponse (uttered with either utmost fervency or relative passivity):

"Annie, you really shouldn't give that up."

Now, dear small audience, let me once and for all clarify the weight of the struggle which this interaction causes within me. Take my word, if anyone is aware of how much she "should" be playing her mandolin, violin, and piano, (preferably all at once and with great passion) it is I. However, I seem to be caught in a cycle which I have yet to conquer.

How do I push through the barriers and entrapments of my very busy life as a student, employee, daughter, friend, girlfriend, and God-chaser to find a releasing of my full musical abilities on the other side?

Or, perhaps the better question- would I even find such release if I tried with all my might?

Maybe.

Recently, I was told that there was still music inside me; an ability still lying partially dormant and unopened to the light of day. How do I respond to this?

I am thinking maybe the answer lies in first loves.

Did my heart first fall in love with the long, deep sounds of bow on string? Was I first captured by the weight of music beneath my fingertips?

Or did I tumble head over heels into a junkyard of sentences and pieces of my thoughts? Words, letters, punctuation- did they find me first?

Truthfully, I think yes. I played piano as a little girl and then stopped for several years, but I've been putting words together for what feels like my whole life. When I play piano, people smile and compliment me on the sounds of sixths and thirds laid out nicely beneath my fingers. But when I write...when I write, people can be filled with movement, laughter, hope, realization, understanding, peace- whatever. I know this is because the Spirit of God is my currency. His breath brings to life the jumbles of my heart that I put to page. Because of this, I don't want to ever stop writing. The presence of his words in mine is inspiring in and of itself.

But music. Music is...harder.


I am moved by music. I cry with it, dance with it, sometimes even laugh with it. But who in their right-brain hasn't done these things? The question is not "does music stir up passion in my heart?", the question is "is my heart made to make music?"

And honestly, I think yes.

I guess I am just wondering how to keep pushing. Perplexing, to say the least.


Anyway.

Thought 2: The ends of beginnings.

A melancholy thought, isn't it? You know what I'm talking about. It's that feeling you get after you paint the first few strokes onto the canvas. It's done; there's no going back. Cover it if you will, it will be there beneath the surface, still.

If I wasn't so abomidably sleepy, I would expound on this one. As it is, I can barely even spell expound.

Thought 3: Kings of Convenience = a first love. Perfect background music for any and all writing-type activities. Thoroughly recommended.


Now, despite the maelstrom of thoughts still leaping between the bunks in my heart's inner chambers, I've got to put myself to bed now.

Thank you for reading.
I know consistency is not my forte these days.

Nonetheless,
sleep sweet.

my soul alight.

Good morning.



If you know me, you know I am not one for addictions. Freedom and free-will appeal to me much more deeply than any compulsive habit I could form. Now, I am aware that anything can be an addiction, but I'm talking substance here. So, in light of this, I generally stand far enough away from stuff that's culturally labeled "addictive" to avoid getting consumed by what I consume. Sodas, cigarettes, whatever- I'm not a huge fan.

However.

This morning, as the crispness of fall comes in like a deep breath of change, a warm yellow mug of coffee and a long overdue slice of perspicacious are my companions of choice.

Today feels like what I've been waiting for since July. I think I am just not a summer-weather type person these days. My heart was almost pounding as I took those first few breaths of real autumn air and spoke aloud to the weather, "please stay as long as possible."

And then, remembering Georgia's propensity to forget the timeline of the seasons, added, "but I would like winter sometime in November."

Anyway. All of this to say that I am in love with today. I slept in and dreamt a fairytale dream full of the kind of feelings that persist even into the daytime. Good feelings. I ate lunch first, and then had coffee for breakfast and dessert. I'm wearing a jacket that smells like a boy I like, and pajama pants that feel like rest and home. Caramel coffee is warming me all the way up and down, while the sun hides behind the gray-blue autumn clouds. It is just a good day to unwind.

It's the kind of day that would unwind me if I didn't have time to let myself unwind, anyway. I have needed this change for so long. It feels like the weather finally caught up to transitional whirlwind my life has been lately, like we're finally on the same page.

Now, granted, it's Georgia, which, when it comes to weather, is the universe's center of false hope. Our blizzards are an inch deep and one subdivision losing power for half an hour is STORM WATCH 2007. So, it might be a couple of weeks before days like today take up permanent residence...but it will be worth the wait.

Anyway.

Thoughts.


1. The Dream. In my fairytale dream this morning, there was one scene in particular that I cannot seem to shake. I greeted mom this morning with something like a "Good morning, I'm making lunch, wanna hear about my dream?" It's just been stuck in my mind so unrelentingly. And I don't necessarily want to rid myself of it...I just keep turning it over in my mind. It's this scene of a girl weeping in the grief of her true love having left her. He loves her, but believes her to be in love with someone else, and leaves in the belief that he is doing what's best for them both. She is, of course, completely distraught.

What captured me most was the way I saw her sadness in my dream. She literally came apart with mourning. As I said, it was a fairytale dream and I think she was not actually a person like you or me. She was made up of these threads of braided silver, the way we are made up of atoms and molecules. So, when her love left her, there was a crowd walking by her wondering why she didn't appear to be mourning at all. Suddenly, though, I could see clearly the silver threads inside of her; they were trembling and shaking and coming undone with grief. As the threads trembled, they began to sweat tears, and I could see her skin shining and wet from it. From the inside out, she was weeping with every fiber of her being. She was falling apart. After all of this, streams of tears began to pour from her eyes, but the ache began on the inside. People wondered why she looked so composed, but she quaked on the inside and unraveled completely, all for the love of this boy that had gone away.

Needless to say, I have never before dreamed anything like this.

My heart wept with her. I was completely involved with her and her story; a very strange feeling.

Anyway. That's just a snapshot. The rest of the dream was similar, but very jumbled, and it would be bordering on fruitless to even try to make it turn into writing.

2. Rest. I am learning that rest and sleep are two very different things. I sleep often. Every night I collapse into bed and smile at the idea of taking refuge in my sheets, if only for a few hours. But bordering on both edges of this are demands from life and living, the kind that can neither be put off or avoided in good conscience. I have come to appreciate sleep more deeply as it has come to feel like a rarity in my life, but rest is a different kind of treasure altogether. I appreciate sleep the way a soldier would appreciate a well-hidden foxhole on the battlefied; I can be safe there for a little while, but it is neither permanent nor the end of my struggle. Rest is like coming home for Christmas, or the war ending altogether. I'll go back to the fighting eventually, but for now I can just love where I am, and breathe deeply without the smell of shots being fired.

Honestly, I really like the way things are in my life, even when I'm not resting. My job, my school, my endless driving up and down I-85...it is a good life. But it wears on you to be working twenty-something hours, schooling and home-working, trafficking and spending infinite amounts of dollars on fuel, and doing it all from dawn til way-past-dusk for at least five days a week.

So, today is much needed, and much appreciated.


3. The Roses. My wonderful boyfriend, upon the anniversary of our three months of dating, gave me a sweet little Parade Rose bush to keep in my room. It was so lovely, with its flourishing throng of golden yellow blooms. I adored the idea of keeping it alive in my room until it was too enormous to keep inside any longer, and I even did research to find out how to preserve such a thriving state of floral euphoria:

"The Miniature Rose also called Parade Rose among other names, is an extremely common and beautiful houseplant. To me Miniature Roses seem to add a bit of elegance to a home. These houseplants require more work than most houseplants." - some blog about houseplants


Okay so, I'm thinking, "Eh, I got this. A little pruning, a little watering, the right light...it'll be fine."

And yet somehow, here, a week later, what do I have?


A dagum rose GRAVEYARD.

I feel awful.

I still have hope though. I really want to save my little plant. It was so darling in the beginning. I believe we can persevere.


So.
If you have any suggestions for how to sustain my darling's life, please let me know.

Anyway, it is time to move forward in the day. A shower? A nap? A phonecall to a friend? Anything I like.

Resting days are wonderful in every way.

signs of life.

Hello.

Contrary to popular belief, I actually haven't died. Also, I still write blogs. Just...only less often.

This is what I am listening to outside my window,


I am being serenaded by a cacophony of cricket creativity. The cicadas take the bass section while the treefrogs improvise solos on the viola and violin. Crickets add rhythm and cello and the symphony is complete. I love this sound. At the end of every kind of day, if there is cricketsong, I can find home in some corner of my heart. At sleepovers, when everybody else is asleep, and I am feeling homesick for my own bed, I'll listen for the faintest of cicada sounds. Once found, it is like a lullaby. I focus my whirling mind on their steady, sweet voices, and I can sleep.

Right now, the symphony song is reminding me that summer is lingering in the foyer. Her weathered hand is poised and waiting on the knob as she prepares to step out of our lives once more. With eyes filled with visions of cooler winds and falling leaves, we turn readily from her long goodbyes to look into the wide open future; but summer is not gone yet. She's singing her warm-weather lullabies to me every night, still. And although I delight in the sound of it, I am so ready for autumn to walk through my door.

It is the transition that gets me every time.


My favorite days of the year are always those in-between days when summer unfolds into autumn, or when winter breathes out the first fragrances of spring. You walk outside expecting the suffocating closeness of the summer heat, but are instead greeted by a wind that feels like change. You can taste the tension of the seasons. My life feels this way today, only less divine and more....difficult.

I can taste the tension of the new colliding with the old. I can feel myself being confronted with anxieties and ominous foreshadowings that I've not yet faced. I walk outside the door of my heart and find...change.

Today was a hard, good day.
School was the good part.

The rest of it was just plain tough.


Even at school, I felt the bigness of the world into which I am leaping. I felt the awkward grinding of consistency against uncommon experience. I had the life-saving friendships of Steph and Olivia there to keep me from completely overloading, but nothing can really save you from how cold the water is on the first jump.

It just is.


I am okay with this. I just don't know everything, and I feel like I am coming unwound.


Anyway.

Remarkable Things Concerning Today:

1. I left my house at 8:40AM, and still walked in late to my 10AM class. Commuting is such adult business. I want to fly to school.

2. I didn't eat or drink for eight hours, approximately. I worked for most of the duration of that time. I'm just sayin', when you don't eat for that long and all you do is work and drive in between...you don't even realize you're hungry until you suddenly become aware that you seem have no blood sugar. Like, at all.

3. I worked for the first time. This was bittersweet.

4. I locked my keys in the car. Again.

5. I made the guy at the gas station smile. By being honest! He asked how I was and I told him I was tired. He said he was about the same. But he seemed genuinely happy to be having authentic human contact. That was nice. :)

I'm sure there were other things. Like how I talked to my boyfriend on the phone or how I pulled my first Hotlanta traffic driving stunts. But I am a sleepy sheep. Thanks for reading. Sweet dreams, world.

identity crisis.

There are days when, from almost any place in the house, you can hear Lalo screaming.



For those who are wondering, Lalo is not a baby, or an angry teenager, or even a person at all. He is my cockatiel, which, for those who are still wondering, is a bird.

Today, he is loud.

A lot of people (including myself, pre-cockatiel) make the unfortunate mistake of believing that all tame birds are magical singing creatures that exist solely to make your life brighter. But, like any new addition to your life, the brightness is bittersweet. Lalo does sing, and he makes these endearing smooching noises when I give him kisses, and overall he is extraordinarily personable. But. He does know how to scream.

Lalo spends entire days listening anxiously to the birdsong outside my window and replying with just one single note, at varying always-loud-sometimes-louder volumes, trying to get the attention of the birds on the other side of the glass. He climbs every wall in his cage and cranes his entire being in the direction of the other birds' voices, but all that he can do in the end is just yell, and yell, and yell.

Naturally, this breaks my heart.


Lalo's scream, the sound itself, is completely repelling. He tweets at the top of his little bird lungs, and all I want to do is strangle him. Generally, I'll just get far enough away to avert the storm until he finishes his soliloquy. But when I stop to remember the heart and reason behind the noise, I melt a little more every time.

There is just something so inherently wrong with a bird being on the wrong side of the glass. And yeah, I know the whole spiel about tame birds versus wild ones, and how Lalo would never survive, and how he really believes he belongs with people and not birds. Don't worry. I'm not going to cast him out into the wild to live his dreams; I know he wouldn't stand a chance. But no matter how many times Lalo acts like he knows how to be a human, it is when he screams that you can tell: he has not forgotten himself completely.

So, the question becomes, how much of myself have I forgotten lately?

Lalo has wings. He is obviously not meant to be on my side of the window pane. I get the idea that maybe he knows this when I try to clip his wings. He is generally the sweetest bird I've ever met, but when he sees scissors he'll do anything to be free of my hands. Biting, screeching, clawing; Lalo would break his own wing to keep from losing his flight feathers. Am I fighting that hard to remember who I am?

It's like this:

C.S. Lewis said that "You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body."

I have a soul. A soul is like wings for the human frame. When the earth is shaken, my soul will still be here because I am made in the image of the Creator: I am eternal. But how deeply do I believe that? How often do I live as if my body were the end of me? How often am I content with the wrong side of the window pane?

So, while it breaks my heart to hear Lalo screaming, knowing that I cannot set him free, I think it must break God's heart to see us pre-occupied with life in the cage. And although I'd give a lot just for my bird to learn to be quiet, I think that maybe God is most pleased when we are kicking and screaming to be free of the things that hold our souls captive.

Bottom line-

"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth."

Hebrews 11:13

We don't belong here.
Maybe we're just here to learn some things; to love and to illuminate the way to our Lord as often and as joyfully as possible.


I think I sometimes forget that I'm gonna last forever. I forget that nothing satisfies me except for the love of God, and I forget why that is. Learning identity is hard. I think it sometimes feels like being all by yourself on the wrong side of the window, screaming.

And sometimes it feels like being on the right side, screaming to the world through the glass.


Anyway.

Today is a day for turning off my phone and turning on the internal radio station that actually listens to what peace and quiet sounds like. I think I fight twice as hard than I really have to when I don't give myself time to power down. Today is a day to find the little lost parts of Annie that got left behind on the battle field. Usually, if I sit and wait, they'll all come wandering back to me. Sometimes it takes a couple of conversations, but eventually I'll be all in one piece.

(: thanks for reading.

peace.

rushing.

I have so many things rushing around in my head that want to be said. They are all interesting to me, and mostly all comprehensible in my own mind. I guess most things are, though. It's the getting-things-down-in-writing that makes writing a craft, and not just a way to pass time. Although, I don't know that blogging can be considered a craft. I guess it would depend on what you blogged, and if it changed anybody's life or not. So, let me know on that one.



I watched the beginning and end of Elizabethtown, the movie, tonight.

I think it should be said that I liked it much better the second time around.

Anyway, what I was thinking about is to the tune of what's happening in the above picture. For those unfamiliar with the plot of the movie, all you really need to know is that, in the end, the Hero and the Heroine find inner-healing and a wonderful love for each other, plus a pretty sweet end-of-the-movie kiss to match. As I watched Orlando Bloom run handsomely into Kirsten Dunst's arms for a life-changingly adorable embrace, something occurred to me. I watched as they pulled apart to fondly examine each other's faces in deep affection before going in for the kiss. I smiled a small and happy smile as the credits rolled after one last endearing shot of the two lovers leaning forehead-to-forehead, looking in one another's eyes. I found myself wishing for a moment like that of my own to inhabit my very near future, and then I did an internal double-take.

You have to understand, I have no shortage of adorability in my life. I have an adorable boyfriend who takes me on adorable dates to take adorable pictures of us doing adorable things together so that the whole world can adore us being adorable. But, still, when Kirsten and Orlando are star-gazing in one another's eyes, a part of my heart leaps up in hopeful yearning. It says, "let's do that for the rest of infinity," and yet...I know better.

I know that living from cute moment to cute moment is the kind of heart-dependency that gets me leaning up against the wrong tree. Eventually, the tree will snap, just like that. You just can't lean on affection like that, and I think that might be one of the ugliest beautiful things about love. When you find the real thing, you can lean on it. You can even find just little baby pieces of it and start to lean on them. But when it comes to the moments of heart-melting adorability, maybe the only way to find the right leaning place is to look for the deeper roots of love within affection.

I don't know. I think that the reason all these words are rushing around within me is because I have very often felt like I am in pursuit of something that so many people just do not see. It's like if the world was walking around in the Sistine Chapel without ever looking up. They'll see beautiful things, but they'll never see the utmost beauty. I mean, it's just what loving Jesus is like. It's what loving is like. The world parades around with banners proclaiming the fame of love, but they will not acknowledge its Origin. They pursue skin, and affection, and sex, and passion- but never the thing that weaves them all together. They're in the Sistine Chapel, and they're staring at their shoes.

I want affection, founded in love.


Just some thoughts.


More thoughts:

1. Late-night freedoms. I have been so tired lately. Life is moving so rapidly, and there is so much I am choosing to face that makes me feel like someone is holding a gun to the future. There's this list of things I have to be able to be and do, and I can live in peace. Sans the ability to accomplish these things, everything explodes. Obviously, this is the dramatized way-it-feels version, but at least I'm being honest about that. Anyway. I've been so tired, but I've been such a night owl. You're probably thinking something along the lines of, "great logic, Annie. Why are we talking about this?" What I am trying to say is that the PM has become my place of refuge and silence. So much is being crammed inside my daytimes that I and the quietness for which my sanity begs are being shoved out into the night hours. How sad is that? I like my little nocturnal refugee camp, but I'm thinking it's probably not a healthy pattern to live speedily all day until I want to just sleep, and then rob myself of that privilege in order to listen to the quiet house for a couple of hours. It's a lovehate situation, but I'm too tired to organize my emotions, so I'll just accept the habit for now.

2. Three hour sleepings. I adore naps. Napping is a lost art which should be forcefully and rapidly re-instated as a weekly, if not daily, ritual. I slept for three hours today to make up for a sleepover last night. My body is begging for more, but it was still so wonderful. Even if I wake up in a weird mood, the mental slowing-down process of falling asleep is a beautiful thing, even in the middle of the day.


3. Dangerous trustings. I still need to work out the job situation. Or, I still need God to work it out on my behalf. I know he's got this. I'm just trying not to be stressed about it.



Oh, man. I've got to sleep.
Thank you for reading.
I hope this all made sense, considering my state-of-brain.


Love to you all.
Sweet dreamings.

change is good.

It has been so long since I've been here.
So much is happening.



Originally, when I began blogging in Perspicacious, I said it was going to be a summertime thing. I guess I knew intrinsically the intensity of the struggle for timespace that happens every year in late August/early September. Always, there are the back-to-school rumblings of billions of public schoolers marching out to the bus stop every morning once again. You can usually catch the sound and smell of fresh notebooks being labeled and old textbooks being bought at ridiculous prices. For me, this time of year is usually a slightly disorganized cross between attempting to invent some semblance of a self-regulated schedule, and trying to finish out the remains of what didn't quite make it on to the must-do list at the end of May. This year, I suppose, is much the same, and yet...completely different.

Everything is changing.

Whenever I step back to muse over the plans and possibilities for the 2007-2008 school year, it kind of blows my mind. I can see me in my mind's eye, a bright-eyed and slightly terrified senior, braving Atlanta's morning rush hour to try and make it to Oglethorpe University on time for my 10AM math class. Me. Taking a college class. Learning how to function in a world quite outside of the one with which I have been well-acquainted. Re-learning to work for the things I want. And, learning it in a way that doesn't leave much room for laziness. The way things are looking, all of the schooling that I am really excited about this year is going to come via me either a] paying for it myself or, b] paying for the gas to get there. Don't get me wrong in this. My parents have given me the enormous gift of covering the tuition for Oglethorpe, and my grandparents have provided me with the Beautiful Buick I need to be able to get there. The plans have been well-laid for me. I simply have to step into my role in fulfilling said plans. In other words, I need a job.

I think I have a plan, though.


Anyway. All of this to say that, things are changing. Life is moving quickly and with much uncertainty. It's like, I know what's supposed to happen. I know what the syllabus for this year is, in my head. But can I really know what will happen? Can I really know what changes will take place in my heart, my mind, my beliefs?

I feel like I'm being given a set of wings, with the option of returning to the cocoon still readily available should I grow too weary. Or just, to remember where I am from, and where I want to be.

So. What else?

Someone anonymous left a wonderful comment on my last blog and said some words about how they and a friend purchased coloring books together. So, when they want to just chill and be together, they color! I thought this was a brilliant concept and a very reasonable way to spend one's downtime, so I bought a book of my own.

Remember these?



They were the only really colorable-looking pictures in any of the books at Kroger. Whoever was making all the easy-to-color pictures in all the coloring books must have gotten bored. All of the Disney Princess and Barbie books were printed in mind-boggling detail, especially when Crayola is your primary medium. SO. I bought the simplest, sweetest one I could find. So far, I love it.


Today, I...

must do something about "the room situation." Everything in my roomspace is begging for a makeover. Piles of unread books adorn the screaming-to-be-vaccummed carpet. A slim covering of bird-dust (a phenomenon known to an unfortunate few who are not pro-active enough to bathe their birds) rests on every lampshade and windowsill. There is a small-but-menacing mound of recently-used purses holding counsel on the floor by my bed, and the little shreds of half-eaten bird food are making a slow, steady attempt on my sanity as they somehow end up dominating every square inch of everything in my disorganized domicile!

Deep breath. So. I need to do something about that.

should color some more. To combat the intense side-effects that disorganization has on my brain.

will probably write a couple of letters. I can barely go to the card-aisle in Kroger without buying at least one just-because card and probably a birthday greeting or two. So. I'll be filling in the blank spaces around the inner-punchline of aforementioned greetings in order to make the people I love a little bit smilier. :)

Other than this, all that is left to say is,
smile! leave a comment! thanks for reading!

and,
I'll see you soon.

joo listen to me.

Sometimes, when you see a really great movie, just remembering it is all it takes to make you grin.



I saw one of those recently.

Happy Feet, a movie about a tribe of penguins, of all things, makes me grin every time I conjur up a mental image of the little clan of short Hispanic penguins pictured in the photo above. They made the movie. Sans the cocky, Latin attitude they brought to the table, Happy Feet would've been a very odd, slightly endearing film. But with these guys, it was uproarious and adorable. I am more than willing to throw up an undisputed one and a half thumbs (they lost half a thumb with all the "Lovelace the penguin sex god" crap they threw in there). And honestly, it was not a very "good" movie. The plot had holes like your little brother's gym socks, and both the beginning and the ending lefts you with a "what, the crap?" expression on your face. But nonetheless, those little mexican penguins pulled through for me in the end, regardless of the fact that they weren't even all that relevant to the thesis statement of the story itself. They were over-confidence, and unexpected humor, and a really awesome hispanic accent.

I'm all about that.


Anyway. Another wonderful thing about the movie was the idea of a "heartsong." Every adorable little fluff of baby penguin gets sent to school shortly after hatching in order to identify and learn to sing their heartsong. What the heck is a heartsong? It is exactly what is seems like it should be. It is the music that plays from the inside of your soul to the outside of your body. It's what gets you a mate, what makes your identity, it's like a musical name. It's what makes you a penguin. No heartsong? No penguin.

Now, the whole plot of the movie revolves around Mumble, the penguin who dances instead of singing. He becomes an outcast for being "just not penguin" and moves in with the aforementioned mexican comrades. So, Mumble is in penguin love with this lovely little sheila called Gloria. Gloria's voice melts the heart of everything male she comes in contact with, but she's not really interested in any of it. She has a soft spot for Mumble.

My favorite scene in the whole movie, I think, is when the two penguin lovers realize at long last that they are made for each other. The heartsong is supposed to be designed to fit someone else's melody, as well as your own. The way to find a penguin mate is to sing until you hear what complements your own song. Gloria tries to discourage Mumble from his pursuit of her because he has no song, but he just keeps on dancing right up to her as she begins to sing. Suddenly, the camera is doing long, sweeping shots around them as they realize that her song and his rhythm are made for each other. You can see the hope rekindle in Gloria's eyes as she begins to again believe that someone was made for her, that her song is a duet.

Now, kid movie or no kid movie, that is enough to grab ahold of my heart.


I think that there is something so intrinsically resonant with humanity in needing to know that your song is a duet. It doesn't always mean marriage, or romance, or whathaveyou. I think sometimes it's just friendship, and the presence of another by your side in every circumstance. But, of course, because I am seventeen and because I am dating someone and because I am Annie, the romantic implications are unavoidably appealing to me.

I think maybe there's a chance that this is the "knowing" feeling that all these love veterans keep telling me about. I guess it's not all that much clearer of an explanation, but maybe the "knowing" is when you realize that your heartsong sounds like a duet with someone else's. Maybe that's when you drop your shields and start to look around like a naked person outside in January having no idea how you got where you are. I mean, I'm sure it's slightly more fun than that, but I'm guessing it would be just as startling.

Anyway. I did not plan that little soliloquy, but that's kind of the whole idea behind blogging for fun, I guess.

Hmmm.

Things I Like Right Now:

1. Fingerpainting. I might have to take a break, considering I don't want to burn myself out before I can churn out more than two canvases, but I do like painting so much. I stopped for a long time, probably because I didn't feel like I was doing very well at it. Self-discouragement hit me like a monsoon of silent uncreativity, and I didn't paint for months. This is okay. I didn't need to paint, for a while. And then I did. So I painted, and I am so glad. There is something inherently strong in the connection between artist and art when the work is done in putting fingers, hands, and skin directly to the canvas. It's like the brush is the only thing barring you from being completely involved in what you're working on. When that barrier is removed, nothing remains, and it's just you, covered in paint, smiling.

2. "I miss you" texts. Almost as good as the ever-popular "I missed you so much" hug (coming soon to an Annie near you!).

3. Long talks. I slept over at the wonderful, beautiful Ashley Moore's home last night. It was five in the morning before I realized that we had been sleepovering since approximately 9:30PM that night and we had done nothing but talk. And by "nothing," I mean nothing. We talked for hours and hours without any real concept of how time was passing, only pausing to realize at the end of it, right before we slept, that we had been in conversation for an unbelievably extended period of time. Then we smiled, made awesome jokes about dumb things, and slept for not-long-enough. Oh, sleepovers. I think I will continue to have them with my close friends (or my husband) when I'm technically too old to do so anymore. I can picture me, with a DVD in one hand and a pint of Ben&Jerry's in the other, looking very pajama-ey and with pleading eyes, convincing the love of my life to stay up until all hours just to sit and sleepover with me. Oh, boy. I am such a girl, and I love it. Maybe we'd make a concession for the sake of his manliness and watch something with explosions in it. Either way: fun.

4. Oreos. With peanut butter, milk, and a big smile. Heck. Yes.

5. Naps. I'm beginning to believe that it is more fun to wake up early and sleep through the afternoon than it is to sleep all morning. I have yet to purposefully set this plan into action in my life, but it seems like a good idea to me. I napped today from 6-something to 8-something, and was awakened by the sound of thunder outside my window. What a beautiful feeling that is. Those are the kinds of moments when I thank Jesus for the roof over my head, and the sheltered feeling of warmth that watching the rain can bring.

Other than this, I'm sure I could make up even more irrelevant stuff to say, but I might just go to bed soon instead. It is important that you remember to hold on to the things that make you happy in your life. So often, I think we let ourselves believe that if it's easy, or happy, or not "productive," it must be knocked clean off the "must do" list and into the "when I get around to it" pile. Not so! Cling to what is good. Fingerpaint. Write music. Lie on the floor with your head right underneath the piano and let the vibrations of the notes pour through you. These are the things on my list these days. Along side of "love the people that matter most to you," and "do not forget to remember your God."

Someone told me recently that my life sounds relaxing via the things I write here on perspicacious. You should know that my life is probably a lot like yours. It is relaxing when I let myself make space for relaxation. I strongly suggest you consider this as possibly one of the most important things you can do for yourself.

Just maybe.


Anyway. This is kind of long. I keep remembering more things I want to say.

One more list, and then I'll make myself finish.

Things I Hope for in the Near Future:
(or, Things that Sound Appealing)

1. A letter in the mail. With my name on the front of the envelope, written with affection by the hand of someone who cares. Words written by the strength of our hands are so few and far between these days. Especially ones with affection in between the spaces.

2. A song. A sweet song. One that either sounds like it was written just to me, or one that actually was. Who doesn't want that?

3. A heartbeat hug. Self-explanatory. Again, who doesn't want this?


Done. Or else you may never come back for fear that I'll just keep becoming increasingly more long-winded. Have no fear. The end is here.


Endnotes:

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Thanks. Love to you all. :)

those days.

So. Happy Friday.



I tried to make a cake today. Yes, make. And yes, tried. I would say "bake" except that the baking part was quite successful. It was the making that made the whole venture turn awry. And by "awry," I mean "really, really ugly." I managed to do everything right all up until it came time to actually take the layers out of the pans and ice them. Oh, buddy. I mean, really. How hard can it be? You flip the pans, and the layers float down in perfect wholeness. The very embodiment of light and fluffy, right? Not for Annie. The sweet-smelling layers of my spice-cake-to-be flopped uncertainly onto the cooling rack with an ominous lack of stability. By the time I was attempting to smear the icing around the top layer, it was way beyond unstable. It was a crumbling mass of comedic proportions; a colossal lump of cinnamon catastrophe; a distastrous experiment in destroying decadence. The crumbly remains of my baking extravaganza were too delicate for the icing so Katie suggested that I heat it in the microwave to try and get it to a more agreeable consistency. I did so, and succeeded not only in plastering up a few of the holes in my masterpiece, but also in nearly scorching my thumb off by trying to use my fingers in stead of my spatula.


All in all,
my cake kind of looks like this:


Nonetheless, I'm keeping it.
And, considering it tastes nothing like it looks, hopefully we won't have to look at it very long.


Anyway.
In other news,
most of everyone is either a] gone or b] going.

So, if you are neither of these things, we should be seeing each other this week.


Things I Desire in the Near Future:

1. Rest. Voraciously. I just can't seem to catch up on it. I think I unwittingly cram my days full of little things that lead to no time for the one big thing I actually need.

2. Soup&Socks. If you've never heard of this phenomenon, you should check it out, immediately. Basically, it's a lot of unbelievably wonderful young people who seek to "eradicate homelessness." Their mania for this cause is both contagious and unstoppable. I want to be a part.

3. Songwriting. Also voraciously. I think the tiredness has permeated my creative glands, though. I feel sleepy in my soul, and unable to produce newness until I allow myself to stop and breathe deeply.

4. Laughter. And someone I love to tell me that I've been taking myself too seriously. Again.


Other than this, I've got layers and layers of things on my mind. Like my cake, I'm feeling kinda crumbly. Unlike my cake, however, I get to put things back together, instead of existing to be torn apart.

Which is...a surprisingly unhappy way to think about food.


Well. Leave a comment. Let me know that you're alive. :)

the giver.

I'm home.



There is something unmistakeably sweet about piggyback rides. For a week, I've become many things that I rarely get to be. I've been head-kisser, bed-maker, command-giver, and the one who hugs tightly enough to forget that your mommy isn't there. I've been the lap to sit on, the hand to hold, the name to call when something isn't right. I've been question-answerer, joke-maker, the one to tell all your stories to when you want someone to laugh. I've been the tooth fairy and the schedule keeper. I've been the bedtime decider and the one to ask if you've brushed your teeth yet. I've been the hand on your forehead to check for fevers, and the one to make sure that you don't get left out. I've been the big girl who dances like a little girl, candy-keeper, and the one who cheers you on as you tip toe to the end of the diving board. But I have also been the piggyback-ride-giver.

The significance of this is heightened, I believe, by the fact that all of the girls cabins are at the top of an enormously long hill. Every day for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between, we lady counselors exhausted ourselves in herding groups of nine and ten little girls up and down this hill. By the end of the week, the girls are dragging their feet, to say the least. So, every day I'd crown one of my nine girls Queen of the Day, and one of them Princess of the Day. This award, given for an outstanding act of kindness, assured you a piggyback down the hill to the "wrap party" that night if you were Queen, and a piggyback down the hill to breakfast the next day if you were Princess. Other than this, I kept piggybacking to a relative minimum. Piggybacks were for special reasons, like shoelessness or being Queen, and not just for anyone who asked.

On Thursday, however, this changed completely.


One of my girls, Sonya, 43 pounds of heart-melting Korean cuteness, woke up feeling lousy. She was quiet and didn't speak up for herself much, but she felt awful enough to let me know that she didn't want to eat anything. By the end of breakfast, we were on our way to the nurse's office to find out she had a 101.9 degree fever. Immediately, plans were arranged for her daddy to come and get her. Before that could happen, however, there was much to be done. I don't know what levels of pitiful your heart can stand, but a tiny seven year old with a 102 fever takes the cake for me. No way was I letting her walk anywhere. So, I carried her. Sonya got piggybacks everywhere. Up the hill, down the hill, to the dodgeball courts- wherever I needed to be, Sonya's arms were around my neck. And as we walked, she talked. She had been the quiet one in the group, far more likely to be giggling at something one of the other girls had said than to be telling some funny story of her own. But once she was on my back, she was full of things to say. The one-on-one closeness combined with the trust that I would take care of her opened up all kinds of doors for Sonya. She hugged me tightly when it came time for her to go, and I knew we had won each other's hearts. That night when I put the other girls to bed and I saw Sonya's empty space, a little rush of sadness flooded my heart. It is inexplicable how taking care of someone connects your heart to theirs. I miss her, still.


This, of course, is just one of so many moments of deep sweetness. I don't know if I could fully describe the kind of happiness I found in watching two of my girls walk down the road holding hands in newly found companionship, or in little Mackenzie blind-folding herself and asking me to lead her back to the cabin. I loved the way it became easy to sacrifice dancing and jumping around during worship when one of them climbed tearfully onto my lap and leaned on my shoulder. I can't imagine how much parents must love their kids. A taste of it made my heart swell with happiness.

Don't get me wrong.

For every moment that I got to spend in absolute delight over something wonderful one of my girls had done, there was a moment of pulling-my-hair-out frustration when none of them were in their beds after half an hour of me circling the room telling them all to brush their teeth. But, what could I do? They won my heart, one by one, until I belonged almost completely to their laughter and their tears and their always, always calling my name. It happens every year.

And that's why I'm so completely worn out today.
That, and the staying up until four in the morning having water balloon fights thing.
But, that doesn't make for soulful blogging material.

So there.


Hmmm...what else?

I'm sure I'll think of something. So much happened this week that I have to pick and choose what to say, or I'd be writing this blog until next year's camp. So just assume that it was the best, most tiring week of the summertime, and you'll be on the right track.


Now, to go eat Oreos and perhaps watch a movie. Or sleep. Or anything else that requires little to no physical participation. As much as I love those girls, my heart is in my pillow today.


So. I'll see you soon.

Remember:
Anyone can comment. No signing up required.

And if you want Perspicacious email updates, leave your address.:)

the end.

the light in your eyes.

I'm writing to you from the lovely, lovely Lake Keowee, SC.

We're in the Cliffs, a luxury home community in which our gracious friends the McEntees have a house. It's beautiful here. This is where we went yesterday,



Pictures of me actually on the falls will be up eventually. :)

So, I'm trying to write an admissions essay and I don't think it has ever been such a thought-provoking task. So many admissions essays are based on trivial questions about life experiences that give you a chance to make yourself sound complex and intelligent. It seems to me, however, that I only ever get the really good questions that really mess with your writing bone.

Actually, the questions aren't what makes it good.
It's just that I can't seem to write a dumb-it-down answer.
If an essay doesn't have a real spine, I am likely to fail atrociously at attempting to make it sound convincing.

So, instead, I write deeply, if I can.

This time, I am writing about my favorite poem, Dirge without Music, by Edna St. Vincent-Millay. I only read this poem every now and then, but every time I do, it surprises me with how deeply it resonates in my heart. In trying to put three points and a thesis to why this poem has affected me profoundly, I have had to actually put a formula to the feeling I get every time I read it. And, strangely, the more I read it, the deeper I feel it, and the stronger I am pulled back to the places of grief in my heart.

Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent-Millay

"I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

I have felt this anger. I have felt this pain.


When my mom miscarried in October of 2005, everything that was stable in my life began to feel unsteady. As she spiraled emotionally downward into post-partum depression, and physically into a series of undiagnosed illnesses, I fell deeply into my own hurt. Anyone who has ever been hurt by the tragedies of this earth will tell you that one of the greatest pains of loss is that the world keeps moving. You feel as though the wind has been knocked out of you, and you just can't walk anymore, but the world keeps breathing, keeps moving, keeps stumbling forward. The sun shines. The days come and go. And so when I felt my world falling apart, I chose to just keep moving. I cried. I hurt. But I shut the windows in my heart, and walked forward unblinkingly. Not until now have I realized that I closed the windows too soon.

But how do you come to terms with the tragedies that don't make sense? How do you reconile the things that no one can explain? How do you keep asking questions when you do not think you will be answered? How do you turn to God when you feel abandoned?

It was a baby. He never even got to breathe. His loss threw my mother into anxiety, chaos, and deep, deep darkness.

"God has a plan. Everything will be okay."

I know. But I do not approve.

I feel so in-between these days. I didn't know I still felt this old pain. I didn't know my heart was still not opened up all the way. So. As new beauty enters my life, maybe I am learning to open the windows inside of me so that the old pain can find its way out.

Anyway.
I sincerely recommend walking through your heart-cemetary with that poem in mind. There is some thing to be mourned in every life.

Open up your heart windows and let us see you again.



On the to-do list for the rest of vacation:

1. Sleep. Until I feel rested in every bone.

2. Eat. With happiness and laughter, and with room for dessert.

3. Write. Because it's how I remember who I am. And because I want to go to Oglethorpe in the Fall.

4. Play. In the water. In the sun. In the kitchen, with my family. To my heart's content.

5. Get LOST. It's family time! We all hunker down in the basement and become completely absorbed in the story. This is probably the only show ever to get me actually talking, yelling, whispering to the TV screen. Screaming, too. Yeah, it's that good.


Anyway. Thoughts for today are a little heavier than usual perhaps. Comment anyway.

And, thank you for reading.
You get ten points just for that.

an all-american blog.

So, I've been thinking about...



patriotism.
(what else?)

My dad and I were in the car earlier this morning, driving home from the tag office, when I noticed something I would generally scorn. It was one of those houses that gets a little Independence Day crazy and sticks like, 47 of those little American flags in their front lawn. I rolled my eyes internally and made some snide remark about my deep dislike for such gaudy displays of patriotism. This caught my father's attention. Unwittingly, I had stepped into a clash of opinion with Chris Morgan, philosophy major and owner of 45 years of experience on earth. This is something I do not recommend trying unless you've studied and taken your vitamins for the day. Throw in an extra half hour to your morning prayer time, and you might have a fighting chance.

I, however, had done none of these things. I had never even vocalized my reasons for such a strong abhorrence to the proud displaying of our country's colors. I wasn't even sure why I felt the way I felt, I just knew that I felt that way. So, as my father began to press back with great and overwhelming force of opinion, I found my voice.

Suddenly, I realized that I believe that America wears her flag the way the Church wears its steeple. The stars and stripes of our emblem are made to represent what America herself was made to represent: beauty, truth, and, of course, freedom. We march around in a pageant-like display of the colors, all the while forgetting what exactly they stand for. So, while the church struggles to remember that it is the people inside of the church building that hold significance, America should labor to see freedom at its greatest depth, not to see the colors of our flag on every lawn.

I didn't come to exact conclusions, mind you. My father made some statements that I still need to untangle inside my mind. But just being pressed on the issue, forced to vocalize my thoughts, made me see the strong places and the crumbling pieces of the things I believe.

Yes, there is a lot of pageantry celebrating the colors instead of the concepts of America. But are we not also fighting for freedom in other places in the world? And if we are, am I even an active voice in that battle?

I call myself a patriot because I believe in truth, beauty, and freedom. I believe in love above all else, and justice for the oppressed. But if I do not illuminate those things, if I do not make my life a flag bearing the colors of what I believe in, then I am not a patriot at all. I'm just a house with a lot of nice decorations.

Anyway. As usual, it's not all worked out in my head. But I am in a better frame of mind on the topic than I was previous to the conversation with my dad, if only because now I'm actually thinking about it. If I'm not thinking about it, I'm no better than the people I accuse of ignorance, laziness, or apathy. And, if I am thinking about it but not letting it affect my beliefs, the result is the same.

So. All of that said... Happy fourth of July! Ha.

My family went to go see fireworks in downtown Jefferson on Saturday night. As always, it was endearing, entertaining, and relatively exhilarating. Anytime you are watching fireworks and getting scared that the trees a few yards away from you might spontaneously combust, things get interesting. I always forget how much I like watching fireworks until the fourth of July rolls around. My family drags me out into the fierce humidity, makes camp in a colony of infuriated fire ants, and tries to squint past the brightness of the streetlights to see some exploding colors sail up into the sky, but! In the end it is so worth it. We were so close that the biggest explosions made you feel like a fish about to be caught up in an enormous net of spark and flame. At times, it was breathtaking.

Which is probably not an adjective one would commonly associate with downtown Jefferson like, at all.

Anyway. Mom is going to pick me up and we are going to drive around in my Beautiful Buick, and go out to lunch.

Oh! That reminds me.

The Beautiful Buick has a name!

We shall call her,



Marilyn.

She's american, she's confident, and she's beautiful.
And, according to Kevin Queen, she's got gusto.

So, that's all.

As always, anyone can comment.
And once again,
leave your email addresses if you want to be on the email list.:)

yes, sir, that's my baby.

So, I got a car today.

Everyone remember Sesame Street? We're gonna have a walk-down-memory-lane moment in 3, 2, 1,






One of these things is not like the other! One of these things somethingsomethingsomething...uhh.....(memory lane = dead end)


Anyway. So it's a 1995 Buick LeSabre, and not a 2008 Mitsubishi Lancer. I can handle that. It runs, it rolls, it can hug the curves as long as we're not talking about a lengthy embrace, and it's not vomit colored. That was my one stipulation. You know that color you see on a lot of your grandparents's cars? The one that looks like the color wheel ate bad Asian food or something? You know the one. Well. I was praying, hoping, wishing that my first car ever wouldn't be that color. God loves me! It's blue. Deep blue, and shining like the future. Perfect. Or, as close to perfect as I envision myself in the near future. Which, in my opinion, is actually pretty dang close.

I mean honestly, how many seventeen year olds do you know who are just given their first car? As in, their parents don't have the money for it and neither do they, so they pray for it, and God hands it over to them because he is the giver of all good gifts. My grandfather just felt deeply inclined one day to buy his granddaughter a Buick, and I, on the other side of such divine intervention, am intrinsically grateful and undoubtedly happy. My life is full of beautiful, and things like this remind me not to focus so much on the things that generally grab my attention. They will be given as I need them. In my heart, that equation equals hope. If I ask for things I have not yet received, perhaps it is not because I will never receive them. Maybe there is a light in the distance. Maybe rescue is coming.

Even as I type these words, the sky in my front yard is painted proof of the lovingkindness and creativity of the God of the Universe. It inhales the thickness of angst in my heart and exhales delight and wonder. Or, as a dear friend of mine once wrote, "God breathes out some beautiful skies."

I have many things on my mind. So, a list.

Things On My Mind: (an abridged edition)

1. Itch, scratch, and melt. I am sitting outside in the face-melting humidity, breathing underwater, and enduring the torment of a thousandthousand gnats and mosquitos chomping on my extremities. Chiefly, they are feasting on my feet. This is evidence of how deeply atmosphere can matter to me as I write. If it weren't for the beautiful outsideness of my front-porch location, I'd be hiding in the air-conditioned haven of the house.

2. Childrens. I saw what I think was an ice-cream truck truckin' it down the interstate today with the words "WATCH FOR CHILDRENS" stickered endearingly across its rear. If that's not something to smile about, I don't know what is. I also happened to be driving my new/first car and listening to good music. So, that wins.

3. Ache. Erin left. Ashley left. Julisa left, but she's back. And now Sam is gone, too. All vacationing in big cities, amish country, family reunions, or the picturesque mountains of North Carolina. In addition to this, I'm leaving on Wednesday, the day after Sam and Erin get back. If I didn't want/need a vacation so badly, I'd complain. As is, I will simply dwell on the ache of missing them dearly and hoping, hoping, hoping to embrace them soon, soon, soon.

4. Applications. Of every kind! GSC refused me due to my unaccredited home-schooledness, so I'm applying at Oglethorpe. Also, I'm job-searching! I applied at the Braselton Grille and the Peach Pit today, and got an application for Cracker Barrel. And, no, the Peach Pit is not a Pit of Peaches. It's an ice-cream parlor. A Peachy Parlor, if you will.

And, like, fourteen other things.
I want to re-watch some of my favorite movies, if anyone wants to watch them with me.

"Some" means,
The Illusionist, The Village, and Pride&Prejudice.

So, I might go shower. Or eat. Or curse the entire mosquitine population.

Once again, if you want to be on the e-mail list, I'll send you notification of all my updates, so leave your e-mail address in a comment or e-mail me at
annieinfinity@gmail.com.

Thanks.:)

Peace, out.

the secret life of daydreams.

So, I know I was just here last night/this morning, with all my thoughts and my wanderings, but I've got more to say.

When do I not have more to say?

If you feel so inclined, you might consider going back to read last night's entry, as well as the following one.
:) eh, eh?




So. I am sitting here listening to the soundtrack to the movie Pride&Prejudice, and thinking about (the inevitable) love. I hope that none of you are deprived enough to be living life without seeing this movie, but just in case, I'll summarize:

There is this family full of girls, all coming of age and looking for husbands. Throughout the stream of events taking place in the film, they are one by one given over to men in marriage. The two eldest daughters are the only ones truly in pursuit of love in their relational dealings, and the story mainly follows their pursuits, specifically the younger of the two, Elizabeth. Lizzie, feisty, young, and lovely, meets a man called Darcy and immediately hates him, and the feeling is evidently mutual. However, over the course of time, it becomes clear that the two are, in fact, in love with one another, and quite unwilling to face the matter. Darcy confronts Elizabeth, confessing his love, and she does not encourage his pursuit of her. Somehow, though, they end up together in the end, blissfully enthralled by their love for one another.

Obviously, they are perfect for each other, all is right with the world, and the credits roll.

But, hey, wait a minute! (my head exclaims, while my heart is sighing.)

Who calls the shots around here? How is it that two people who despise each other on first meeting can truly value one another in the most intimate way, given time? He kisses her face over and over and calls her Mrs. Darcy and our hearts move in a collective swoon, but something in me wants a little more than what I've been given.

What I'm trying to say is, what makes two people "right" for each other? Is it spiritual? Physical? Emotional? Psychological? What defines the edges of this vast decision of someone being the "right" one for you? Can other people tell you this or is it something only you, in the very deepest places of your soul, can know? Is it a moment of clear definition or a process of slowly leaning until you fall?

The terrible and beautiful thing about these questions is that whenever you ask someone who should know the answers, all they do is get this deep look in their eye and say "You'll know, baby. You'll just know."

So, then. The answers are lurking in my future, apparently. But why does everyone else, everyone who really probably doesn't know, keep saying things about love like they know what they're talking about?

People like me.

I guess if nobody was allowed to conjecture or consider or think aloud then, well, life wouldn't be all that thrilling. But, still. When the ones who don't know speak as if they do...then there are problems.

Anyway. These are just half-thoughts. Obviously, I don't have conclusions, or I'd be writing a book or something instead of a blog.

So, to make us all feel more accomplished, I'll make a list.


Things I Would Like To Do In The Near Future:

5. Get a job. Self-explanatory. Job = cash. Cash = buy stuff. Buy stuff = car!

4. See the ocean. I was looking at photographs of Peaks Island, Maine, yesterday, and I felt all of this sadness rushing around inside of me. We usually go and stay as a family with our friends in their house on the island in the summer time. (Prepositional phrases, much?) We're not going this year. I am heartaching.

3. Finish school. I have so little left, it's maddening. It seems like it will never end, and yet the end is so near. I can do this. It's almost over...

2. Finish applying for GSC. Okay, so I don't want to do this one. But I do want to joint-enroll in the Fall. Hopefully, they are home-school friendly.

1. Eat more watermelon. It is a summmer fruit. Every time we buy it, it disappears in like, hours. I am no small contributor to this phenomenon. Need. More. Melon.



That's all, folks.
Sweet dreams, and don't forget to lend me your thoughts! Comment away.



PS. I am considering starting an email list for all those who read but don't get on myspace enough to keep up with my "new post" bulletins. If you're interested in having alerts emailed to your inbox to let you know when I've got a new post up, leave a comment with your email address, or send me an email at annieinfinity@gmail.com. Thanks, guys! Peace.

unwinding.

Good morning.


What is it with me?

I claim to need days and days of sleep after a long night of sleepovering on Wednesday, but here I am, less than days and days afterward, pushing the clock into the early hours again.

I'm time-processing.
Let me a'splain.

Recently, I am finding myself often left at the end of a day feeling as though I still have much unwinding to do before I am ready to relinquish the day from my hands. It's like I have a measure of time inside of me, a certain amount of it, given at the beginnings of all of my days, and meant to be spent exactly down to the drop. So, on days where I should be sleeping, but find myself ranting in semi-coherent blogs instead, I can feel the pouring out of the time inside of me, tumbling toward a pressing desire for sleep.

In other words,
I'm not done yet.
There are still too many words in my head to put them to sleep.

Much of the time, this processing happens on days where Sam comes over to the house and leaves late. All of the thinking, the laughing, the talking, the whatever-we-did-that-day is still presiding over my heart-space, needing to be given time before it will let me sleep. I think, possibly, this is because the concept of having someone over and then letting them go at eleven fifteen instead of keeping them for a sleepover is a new concept for me. Basically,
having a boyfriend is a new concept for me.

So, I watch two episodes of Lost.
I stay up until 1:06AM, writing blogs.
I listen to the acoustic guitar music on Sam's myspace over and over because he has good taste.
I unwind.

And you get to be here, or at least, I'm capturing it for you.
As if it were truly a momentous concept.
Oh well.
It's what's in my head.


Also in my head, a thought.

Thought: What are the movie moments of my life?

You know, the moments that should be on a screen somewhere, but instead are actually taking place inside of your humble existence. I wonder if I notice them. I wonder if anyone does. It's like this,

if someone else tells you to sit down and watch,
to pay close attention,
to someone else's story, and you do,
then you see all the beautiful moments, all the things that make you sigh, or cry, or leave you breathless, and you admire them.

But in your own life, when is there time to just stop and look at how beautiful everything around you is becoming? I mean, not literally. You can usually find a moment to see, if not smell, the roses. But, to really stop time inside of the most wonderful of wonderfuls, and to admire the sweetness of it all...maybe it's almost a skill.

So, in order to help you in your impending quest to stop time, here is a list of some of the more movie-like moments in my life, categorized for index and amusement purposes:

1. The We Are Best Friends Moment.
"I won't drop you!" I promised, with far more certainty than I felt. I shuffled around in anticipation of Julisa's weight on my shoulders as she considered the consequences of lowering herself downward from the branch on which she was stranded. I had helped her up into the tree and tried failingly to climb up after her. Now, as she was dangling, slightly traumatized, from the branch above me, we both knew there was only one way down. Somehow, she made it onto my shoulders and I staggered around without breaking both of our necks. This, I felt, was the simplest form of trust: I'm falling on purpose because you will catch me.

2. The Where's The Camera? Moment.
(I have more of these than anything else. Don't be jealous. Not everyone can fall on their face all the time.)

Sixth grade. Everything matters in sixth grade. Especially at the beach, especially with all your friends and all the college aged interns, and especially when you're home-schooled. Due to all of these things, the leaders of the youth group with which I was traveling saw fit for us scrawny little middle schoolians to play some terrible, awful game involving a lot of teamwork, some paper plates, and a basketball court approximately the temperature of the sun's core. So, we're playing this terrible, awful game of death, and I am bordering on a heat stroke from dehydration, so I decide to jog in the chillest, most attractively cool way possible across the adjacent court to get some water. Unfortunately, the adjacent court is, in fact, a volleyball court, complete with its very own incredibly resilient volleyball net. My unbelievably cool jog turned into an unbelievably horizontal bodyslam onto the sand. Interns and oh-so-cool eighth graders looked on in the briefest display of pity I've ever experienced. It took negative amounts of seconds for the "are you okay?" response to give way to peals of unsympathetic laughter. Somehow, there was not a camera around. This, I believe, is actually kind of tragic.

3. The How Do I Make This Last Longer? Moment.

I've been sitting here for minutes and minutes trying to choose one moment to describe for this category. I'll think of one and then wonder about how to describe it in words for a couple of moments, and then think of another, another, another. In the end, I am finding myself with a panoply of little moments all stacked up together in this category, each one so small and sweet that it seems like describing them all would be like describing each color of the sunset individually. You want to, you probably could, but should you try? Maybe.

Examples of this kind of moment are
- the first time Sam and I held hands.
- riding in the car with Katie in the spring with the windows down and the music up.
- all of the moments where I feel that sweet silence that does not need words, but does allow for them. You can speak whatever is on your mind, or you can just be silent with whomever you are being silent with, knowing that you both want to be exactly where you are.
- and, seeing my family all laughing together at once, entirely enjoying one another's company, and being exactly who we are.


Well, this is a lot to have written so early in the morning,
and perhaps I should go to bed before I put you to sleep with my wanderings.

Thank you to all who commented.
And to all the noble readers.
You are much appreciated.


Don't forget: Anyone can comment. Go for it. Let me know you're living.



PS. It says that I am posting this at 12:56AM. In actuality, it is 2:05AM. Hopefully, this gives you a more complete scope of my unwinding process. Thank you.

:)