Time: 6:54 A.M. Ahhh, how poetic the first rays of morning light are as dawn rolls across my windshield... No, I did not have a steamy trist that kept me awake until the wee small hours of the morning. I'm at work. On Saturday. At 6:54 A.M.. Right. Forgive me if I am not seeping with creativity. posted by me 6:59 AM . . .
Pretending It's a Rainy Day I would love to curl up in the corner my loveseat today and just watch the rain roll down my window. Sip a cup of coffee while nestling into the cushions and getting all wrapped up in an old beat up blanket that my great grandma B knit in some age long past and has since accumulated layers upon layers of the comforting smell of 'home' due to it's long-term residence in the house of my youth. Now it abides 600 miles away from the house it's known, in my cluttered apartment. It came drapped over the rocking chair I asked to have. That blanket has been on the back of that chair for as long as I can remember, it's fitting that my mom left it on there when she placed it in the garage for my dad to bring down to Nashville. Almost as if the blanket has become as much a part of that chair as my memories in that house make up a strong part of who I am. As much as the smell of that blanket stirs my olfactory lobes to bring back memories of roller skating in the basement and sleepovers gone awry. Reminds me of who I am, where I came from and quite possibly, if I close my eyes and let my sense of smell overtake all others, I'll be transported back to my mom's basement, curled up in a corner of the ratty old loveseat with my blanket pulled up to my chin and I'll be comforted with thoughts of home. Then I will open my eyes, bringing focus back to the blurred, rain-streaked window and know that I'm still home. Because home is not a place, it's a feeling born in me. I bring home with me. I am home. posted by me 10:14 AM . . .
What is it that is so enticing about a great musician or writer? It's the sense that they reveal a piece of themselves to the audience. The listener can hear the angst in the throaty growl of the lead. The reader is led to tears by the beautiful expression of emotion sprawled across the page. Over the past few months I've been trying to convey myself by pouring out my clever wit and stunning vocabulary into my qwerty. After all these snippets of my thoughts and events you should have a pretty decent picture of my likes and dislikes, what I want and need. You should know that I'm an introvert trapped inside an extrovert. That, as cliche as it sounds, I love to go on long walks (mostly around lakes or in wooded areas, given my topigraphical location) and the crunch of fallen leaves under my feet on a crisp autumn morning. You should know that my favorite place is my porch, which, incidently, is not a porch at all. You should realize how much I detest small talk and, ironically enough, how easy it is to let people think they might know me when actually one of my biggest struggles is how to truly open up to new people. You should realize that, except for what I've let you see, you don't know me at all. Because I hardly know me and what I do know isn't all that stellar. Because even in all my candidness and talk of honesty, I have been keeping secrets from you; from myself. Sometimes I get lost in the woodland of my own thoughts, dreams and fears. Maybe you can discern the forest through the trees. If so, how about you fill me in. Ain't that what you want them to know. All they get of you is what they get out of the show. The rest is mine, I guess, the beauty and the mess to hide. ~Nickel Creek posted by me 5:50 PM . . .
Hi, I’m Earth, Have We Met? Lately I feel like such a space cadet. I haven't been my usual loquacious self. I have not filled others with lofty conversation. More likely, I have settled into quick yes and no answers, rather vague and trite. This isn't because I don't have anything intelligent to say, it's just because I'm thinking about so many things on such an intricate level that my words seem inadequate for my thoughts and feelings. I asked a friend the other day to pray for me that I would be satisfied with where I am in life and how things are going because I have felt this extreme sadness and emptiness lately. I called my mom's house a couple weeks ago just to talk to someone who I know loves me. Really loves me. Pretty lame, huh? And it didn't even really work, I still felt sad. But I have found a love, or rather Love found me. He pursues me, even unto death because He loves me. My heart wells up with joy and despair as I realize the slightest hint of the depth and width of the love calling me. Joy at the fact that it actually exists and despair that I can never fully return the love bestowed upon me. It’s a sadness founded in Grace given and received. It’s an appreciation of the mercy and raiment wrapped around me. No words could really express all that. I think I’ll just be quiet for a bit. posted by me 3:04 PM . . .
