So friends, there's lots to say, but no organized way to say it. The only way I know how to get my point across sometimes is to leave you with impressions of how I'm feeling...and today has been full of emotion. Hmmm...am I making any sense?
First, how could something so adorable be so terribly evil?
we do not typically allow her to drink out of coffee cups.
Random interplaced thoughts:
I like the smell of crayons and Play-Doh.
Today has been a good music day...
"those baid-aid children chased your dog away..."
and this song, which i might add, inspired the title of this blog:
Latter Days
What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be. Lord knows we've learned the hard way all about healthy apathy. And I use these words pretty loosely. There's so much more to life than words.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear. Call it the shadow of myself. And if the music starts before I get there dance without me. You dance so gracefully. I really think I'll be o.k. They've taken their toll these latter days.
Nothin' like sleepin' on a bed of nails. Nothin' much here but our broken dreams. Ah, but baby if all else fails, nothin' is ever quite what it seems. And I'm dyin' inside to leave you with more than just cliches.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear. Call it the shadow of myself. And if the music starts before I get there dance without me. You dance so gracefully. I really think I'll be o.k. They've taken their toll these latter days.
But tell them it's real. Tell them it's really real. I just don't have much left to say. They've taken their toll these latter days. They've taken their toll these latter days.
--Over the Rhine
There's a creative endeavor in the making. Brittany talked about making a collaborative effort of my writing and her drawings. I am at liberty to fashion stories from the mud of my mind and she will, in turn, supplement acclectic, breath-taking aesthetic. That's the plan, at least. For some reason, images of Amelia Earhart and seashores are flashing through my head. I think we'll focus on women....OH B! if you read this...Anne Grinstead! Dang...and so the fun begins. Excited.
I'm taking a plunge into the unfamiliar waters of spirituality for my creative writing class. I find it hard to talk about spiritual matters in most of my classes where most of my classmates have been burned by the church or adamantly voice a clear disdain for any sort of religious adherence, but I'm doing it....and I like it. It's about time I'm honest with my readers. Right? I've been feeling like a liar in the past, you know? Like I'm hiding the most important part about myself. The ideas of "leaving" and "losing" are also playing a major role in my up-coming piece. Here are a few excerpts:
"Your feet are sinking into the pavement.
And I'm running faster down Parkway Dr. past the neighbors's tree.
Then I rest into a steady pace beside the old rubble of a house, long forgotten, and finally run beyond the last mailbox on the right before the road slopes vertically to the main strip of street that leads to surrounding cities. You're behind me somewhere....
That's why this morning when I go jogging and you go walking and you fall behind because you can't move so fast anymore, it feels like I'm gone already. And I focus on the rhythm of my shoes against the ancient world beneath the beating--the sound of going. The sound of leaving. Breathing. The pull, the push, the inahle one, two, three, four and the exhale one, two, three, four of it. The life, the death, the moving forward."
"I lived like a walking apology--on tiptoes and with eyes wide open, always looking over my shoulder..."
This is a good tree:
Blah, blah, blah. I just talk about myself a lot.
Despite my arrogance and self-indulgence, God remains constant and ever-so good.
