Even though I'm not big on caffeine, I love the smell of it. The richness, the culture. It's like a way of life.
I love to make little hearts with the cream at the top of whatever drink I'm making. It doesn't matter if the customer never sees it, it's still so fun to do.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sayonara, Facebook.
So. I'm deleting my facebook within the next few days. I've already saved all precious pictures from my profile to my computer. I've posted an official announcement in my status. It's happening.
Facebook's just getting really lame. And, I mean, it's not that I don't like change. Change can be a good thing. But I'm also a paranoid kind of girl. And the stalker-ish-ness of the new Facebook is just really starting to creep me the heck out. And it's just going to get worse. So I'm leaving. Permanently. I really hope Facebook dumps all my information because that's just really creepy if they keep it. The "big brother's watching" feeling I have is bad enough now, what if I delete it and I'm still not free? Okay, chill.
I'm sure I'll be fine. In every regard. I mean, everybody was just fine before Facebook came along, and Myspace before that. The way I see it, the people that want to stay in my life are going to make the effort. I have a cell phone. Call me, text me, if you want to do something. And I have this blog for anybody who cares about my life.
I know I'm going to miss it. I love being connected to those people I don't get to see all the time. And, in a way, I feel like I'm deleting a part of my life. But I know I'll be okay.
And, who knows? Maybe I'll try Twitter one of these days.
Facebook's just getting really lame. And, I mean, it's not that I don't like change. Change can be a good thing. But I'm also a paranoid kind of girl. And the stalker-ish-ness of the new Facebook is just really starting to creep me the heck out. And it's just going to get worse. So I'm leaving. Permanently. I really hope Facebook dumps all my information because that's just really creepy if they keep it. The "big brother's watching" feeling I have is bad enough now, what if I delete it and I'm still not free? Okay, chill.
I'm sure I'll be fine. In every regard. I mean, everybody was just fine before Facebook came along, and Myspace before that. The way I see it, the people that want to stay in my life are going to make the effort. I have a cell phone. Call me, text me, if you want to do something. And I have this blog for anybody who cares about my life.
I know I'm going to miss it. I love being connected to those people I don't get to see all the time. And, in a way, I feel like I'm deleting a part of my life. But I know I'll be okay.
And, who knows? Maybe I'll try Twitter one of these days.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
You were the only one that didn't fold, but I just broke right down for you in an attempt to gain your trust.
My mom had a corneal transplant two days ago and is on bed rest for the next ten days, doctor's orders. She's doing fine, it's just she can't DO anything. It's so weird, being the one taking care of her. The roles are reversed. I went grocery shopping for my family so we'd actually have food to eat. It was weird. I felt like such a mom. It made me realize how you never actually consciously grow up and get all responsible, it just happens. Sneaks up on you. It hit me how much stronger I've become over these past few years, how much I can handle. Thank You, God.
I went back to visit my old high school today. I hadn't planned on it, it just happened. I got off work around 11 and realized I needed to request my high school transcripts be sent to Liberty like PRONTO. So I got that taken care of and also just got to visit with people. Awesome teachers, some friends in grades below me. It was SO GOOD to see all of them. I was so encouraged by some of my teachers. They really just brightened my day with how much they care about my life and what happens to me. It means so much, seriously. The only awkward part about visiting would be when people were like, "So how's school going? Where are you at again?" and I would have to explain the whole Regent/Thomas Nelson thing and how I'm just working right now. But they love that I'm starting Liberty in January. They all said it would be such a great fit for me. I agree, I really do.
Also. I want fall. I'm tired of it being a little tease and playing hard to get. GET HERE. I want scarves and sweaters and chilliness. I wanna carve pumpkins and see the leaves change. I want it. The romantic-ness of it, the melancholia.
I went back to visit my old high school today. I hadn't planned on it, it just happened. I got off work around 11 and realized I needed to request my high school transcripts be sent to Liberty like PRONTO. So I got that taken care of and also just got to visit with people. Awesome teachers, some friends in grades below me. It was SO GOOD to see all of them. I was so encouraged by some of my teachers. They really just brightened my day with how much they care about my life and what happens to me. It means so much, seriously. The only awkward part about visiting would be when people were like, "So how's school going? Where are you at again?" and I would have to explain the whole Regent/Thomas Nelson thing and how I'm just working right now. But they love that I'm starting Liberty in January. They all said it would be such a great fit for me. I agree, I really do.
Also. I want fall. I'm tired of it being a little tease and playing hard to get. GET HERE. I want scarves and sweaters and chilliness. I wanna carve pumpkins and see the leaves change. I want it. The romantic-ness of it, the melancholia.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Who are these people that show up in my dreams?
I had a dream last night/early this morning that I was really, really sick and no one could figure out what was wrong with me. I was having these unspeakably horrible headaches that would NOT go away. Like, even though it was a dream, I could feel them, like a thousand knives in my brain. I was really scared of what the doctor would say, but trying to put on a brave face for my family. But here’s where it gets weird and awesome and beautiful. This is why I’m blogging about it, to write it all down so I won’t forget it. I was waiting to be seen by the doctor, my mom was in the examination room with me and for some reason my brother was in there too. When the doctor walked in, I was struck by how staggeringly handsome, kind, and young he looked. He had to be at least 26 or so to be a resident, he was tall and muscular with this crazy blonde curly hair that just worked on him. And his eyes. They were so light and dazzling. I'd never seen eyes like his. He was, well, beautiful. So of course, I began to feel even more nervous, but for different reasons. When he shook my hand and introduced himself, he held on to it for a long time and leaned over and kissed my cheek. For some reason, it didn’t seem weird. Then he asked me a bunch of questions. Apparently in the dream, I’d just returned from a mission trip to somewhere in Africa. He asked if the headaches started while I was there, I told him yes.
His eyes were so kind and concerned and beautiful as he leaned in close to me and told me he was going to pray for me for a few minutes. I said okay and he took my hands. I don’t remember what he said in the prayer, but after it was done he explained what was causing my headaches. He told me someone, a witchdoctor maybe, had put a curse on me while I was in Africa. I remember, in my dream, I felt scared and shut my eyes, and in my mind’s eye I saw this ugly, scary-looking mask and realized that this young doctor was right. My hands began to tremble a little and he squeezed them tight, told me the curse was gone now, that it’s been prayed off of me. That’s when I noticed my headaches were gone.
I was so happy I wanted to cry, but instead I hugged this man for a long time, just thanking him over and over. He told me he wasn’t the one to thank. It was so weird, I can’t even explain it. But it was like then, I knew, just knew, I was going to marry him.
And then I woke up. It was such a vivid dream and I didn’t want it to end. All I’m wondering now is if this guy really exists? I hope so. I really do.
His eyes were so kind and concerned and beautiful as he leaned in close to me and told me he was going to pray for me for a few minutes. I said okay and he took my hands. I don’t remember what he said in the prayer, but after it was done he explained what was causing my headaches. He told me someone, a witchdoctor maybe, had put a curse on me while I was in Africa. I remember, in my dream, I felt scared and shut my eyes, and in my mind’s eye I saw this ugly, scary-looking mask and realized that this young doctor was right. My hands began to tremble a little and he squeezed them tight, told me the curse was gone now, that it’s been prayed off of me. That’s when I noticed my headaches were gone.
I was so happy I wanted to cry, but instead I hugged this man for a long time, just thanking him over and over. He told me he wasn’t the one to thank. It was so weird, I can’t even explain it. But it was like then, I knew, just knew, I was going to marry him.
And then I woke up. It was such a vivid dream and I didn’t want it to end. All I’m wondering now is if this guy really exists? I hope so. I really do.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Various musings from a notebook.
You have old eyes.
The kind that say you've seen too much.
Our scars are so much the same.
You're familiar.
That old, angry song
You know it too
You've heard it too
The screaming, razor-sharp words
That old, tired dance
Of broken glass
And torn photographs
You've seen it too.
In that way, we're the same.
The same fears.
The same questions.
Wondering if love really exists.
If it does, can it really work?
Can it last?
-November 2010
He met her under the streetlight.
Tan corduroy jacket zipped up, speckled with icy flakes.
Hands jammed into the front pockets of his dark wash jeans.
Old beat-up Pumas covered in slush.
Snow in his hair, hair in his face.
She ran to him, half-slipping in the ice.
His arms caught her, pulled her to him.
-Snow Day; December 26, 2010
This is from a dream I had a few months ago that I had fallen in love with a boy who was HIV-positive:
He had the sun in his hair
And sadness in his eyes
As he spoke of disease and anger and
careless mothers using filthy needles.
I wanted to kiss the quivering out of his hands, kiss the pain off his face,
kiss away his sickness.
But I couldn't.
All I could do was sit there across from him
And listen as he told me about the betrayal of his own blood, his body.
About the kaleidoscope of pills he has to take every single day.
About how he could never give me the life I wanted.
The children I wanted.
But I didn't care.
All I wanted was him.
And every second, every minute, every day, month, year I get to spend with him
No matter how hard or sad
Would be so worth it.
-I woke up crying from this dream. It seriously felt so real.
The kind that say you've seen too much.
Our scars are so much the same.
You're familiar.
That old, angry song
You know it too
You've heard it too
The screaming, razor-sharp words
That old, tired dance
Of broken glass
And torn photographs
You've seen it too.
In that way, we're the same.
The same fears.
The same questions.
Wondering if love really exists.
If it does, can it really work?
Can it last?
-November 2010
He met her under the streetlight.
Tan corduroy jacket zipped up, speckled with icy flakes.
Hands jammed into the front pockets of his dark wash jeans.
Old beat-up Pumas covered in slush.
Snow in his hair, hair in his face.
She ran to him, half-slipping in the ice.
His arms caught her, pulled her to him.
-Snow Day; December 26, 2010
This is from a dream I had a few months ago that I had fallen in love with a boy who was HIV-positive:
He had the sun in his hair
And sadness in his eyes
As he spoke of disease and anger and
careless mothers using filthy needles.
I wanted to kiss the quivering out of his hands, kiss the pain off his face,
kiss away his sickness.
But I couldn't.
All I could do was sit there across from him
And listen as he told me about the betrayal of his own blood, his body.
About the kaleidoscope of pills he has to take every single day.
About how he could never give me the life I wanted.
The children I wanted.
But I didn't care.
All I wanted was him.
And every second, every minute, every day, month, year I get to spend with him
No matter how hard or sad
Would be so worth it.
-I woke up crying from this dream. It seriously felt so real.
Monday, September 12, 2011
True, I talk of dreams. Which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
MERCUTIO: O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider web;
Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she!
Mmmmm....Love this. Love it. If I ever auditioned for a Shakespeare play, I would read this. And I would kill it. Just like the guy that played Mercutio in the 1968 movie absolutely killed it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsRQSazjl4U&feature=related
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider web;
Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she!
Mmmmm....Love this. Love it. If I ever auditioned for a Shakespeare play, I would read this. And I would kill it. Just like the guy that played Mercutio in the 1968 movie absolutely killed it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsRQSazjl4U&feature=related
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