Hiding From Tomorrow

Yesterday on the way to work, I accidentally locked my keys in my car while at the gas station. Stomping my foot and yelling next to my securely locked car door did no good but it made me feel a bit better.

Reluctantly I shuffled into the gas station convenience center, where the cashier was about to feel his blood pressure increase significantly. I carefully explained to him what had happened, as he was foreign and spoke with a heavy accent. He agreed to dial the phone for me which was out of my reach behind counter displays and contacted 911 so that I could have the police come to unlock my car.

The 911 lady who answered my call sounded quite irritated when I reminded her that other police have unlocked my car in the past, insisting that not all police in all areas will do so. She gave me the number for a lock service instead. I knew that any company other than AAA was going to charge me a fee, so I asked the cashier to call 411 so I could get the number for AAA.

Now, this sounds very simple, but it was actually quite complicated. In addition to regular customers coming to the counter to buy gas and other items, another man with a different heavy accent was repeatedly coming in to tell the cashier that the gas pump was not working.

By this time, I had had enough, and went out myself to see if I could help. The pump was actually broken. When the cashier told the guy to use another pump, he stopped coming in. This is surprising, since the second pump was not operating, either.

At last, the cashier was able to call AAA and schedule assistance. I restlessly paced around the front of the store and gazed out the window as a downpour began and a dark, dusty-blue Charger pulled into the parking lot. A very tall policeman made his way out of the car and and into the store to examine the ice cream selection. While he looked carefully through the freezer doors, I asked him if he would unlock my car door. He said he was willing to check his car for a tool to do so, as he slowly walked to the cashier, who by this time was less frazzled than before.

Hopeful, I followed the policeman out to the parking lot and was glad the rain was warm. No tool, but he entered his car and contacted another cop who was to arrive with the correct device to do the job.

While I waited for the policeman to exit his car to let me know if someone was able to help, the cashier exited the store, coffee in hand. Oh, how nice of him to see that I'm standing in the rain and to bring me coffee. He announced that AAA had called and would be there in 40 minutes, then he and the coffee disappeared back through the doors.

A local and very handsome policeman came to save the day. I enjoyed watching him almost unlock my car. Well, at least I didn't tell AAA to cancel.

The rain had passed, so I grabbed a free publication and leaned against my car to read. Finally, a large truck arrived and a cheerful AAA repairman exited and opened my car door.

After all of that, you'd think that nothing else would happen for the week that was worth mentioning, and you'd be wrong.

Today so far the toilet has overflowed and I accidentally locked my keys in my car in the grocery store parking lot. This time I was able to walk to my mom's house to get one of my spare keys.

I don't want to know what's going to happen tomorrow!

Why Not?

Have you ever flown a kite? Yes! We used to make them in art class in private school, then fly them as high as possible without tangling them up in the strings of each other's kites. This is one of the very few pleasant memories I have of that particular "school".

Do you wish on your fallen lashes? Nope. I haven't ever heard of this until now and it seems like a waste of time to me. Unless those wishes come true. I think I would wish that my lashes wouldn't fall out.

Do you consider yourself successful? I'm not what the world would call successful, but their idea of success is my idea of failure.

When was the last time that you made an obscene phone call? I never did that. No, really, I didn't! This reminds me of when I got a prank call that was not obscene but was very annoying. It just so happens that *69 had become available and I used it to call the idiot back.I told them never to call me again and refused to explain how I had gotten their number. I could tell by their voice they were totally spooked out. It was great! (They never called again.) I'm smiling as I write this...I wish I could do it all over again ~ it was that much fun.

Have you ever asked for a pony? No. First of all, my parents couldn't afford one. Then there was the fact that we had nowhere to put it. Third, I didn't want one. I wanted a cat. Or a dog.

Plans for tomorrow? I would like to get more done tomorrow than I did today. Or yesterday, for that matter...

Can you juggle? Juggle what? Jack-o-lanterns? Hamsters? Watermelons? If it's any of those things, then yes...sort of.

Missing someone now? Yes, and always. That would be my father.

When was the last time you told someone, "I love you?" The last time I saw my mom, which wasn't long ago.

How are you feeling today? Today I feel fat, even though I'm only moderately fluffy.

Worst job experience? I worked for a company that refused to let me work from home for a few weeks to spend more time with my father who was terminal with Cancer. Then they outsourced the jobs of almost everyone in my entire department and asked me if I would work from home to teach the people with our jobs how to do what we did. Needless to say, I said NO.

What are you looking forward to? More things than I can name here.

Have you ever crawled through a window? Probably. Hasn't everyone?

What's the most recent bad meal you had to endure? I eat pretty well and am thankful for all I eat, so this one doesn't apply.

Can you handle the truth? The truth about what? Next question, please!

Whose to blame for what's going on? Ok, I copied these questions elsewhere and pasted them here, so I'm entitled to be annoyed that someone doesn't know the difference between "whose" and "who's". The teacher who didn't teach you how to use the English language properly, that's who!

What will it take to fix it all up? Studying?...A miracle..?

Blossoming

When I was married to my abusive ex-husband (he left his marks only on my heart and mind), my creativity withered and almost died.

It has been about five years out from the divorce and I am just now doing the work I needed to do after the papers were signed. I didn't want to deal with anything. My job was outsourced, I had just bought a house, and my father was dying of the epidemic called Cancer.

Now I am remembering who I am and discovering who I am, at the same time, since I am not exactly the same person I once was. You can't go through such a "marriage" and not come out the other side of it changed.

I used to say to myself, "I would like to do this or that." Painting, writing a book, etc. Anything through which to express myself and my creativity. But the weight of my situation and his condemnation made breathing seem inconvenient, so let's just say I wasn't quite there yet. At all.

I used to have dreams of being in an old house where everything was familiar, but dark and gray and dreary. Somewhere along the line of the dream I would discover a part of the house that was bright and cheerful and wonderful. It was new and very familiar all at the same time. I loved it! It was part of my house all along. It was part of me. It was the part I am just now entering, and I am so grateful and blessed.

Yes, I still hear the voices of the past in my head, but I am learning to counter them with the truth. I visit other blogs of other people who are swimming in their creativity and thriving because of it, and the old voice whispers, "Good for them, but you can't do that."

Yes, oh YES I can.

I might not do it the "proper" way, but it will still be an expression and a reflection of me. Art is more beautiful that way, if you ask me. Technique is a tool to make art more precise, and that's great - but art from the heart is better. Anyone who has seen children's art will agree. It's organic and flowing and has a priceless freedom.

I am so happy to be in this place in my life with regard to all of these things. I look back on all of my yesterdays and find that none compare. My life is opening like a flower, and so am I. So beautiful!

Looking Up

When I go to one of my jobs, I have a daily choice set before me: elevator or elevate myself...via several flights of stairs. Lately I've been feeling motivated enough to ascend - somewhat slowly and out-of-breath all howevermanyIhaven'tcounted stairs. I'm proud of my 40-something self!

I'd like to say that the motivation is all about me. I have the gumption, the willpower, the spunk! Nope. At first it was just to see if I could do it. As I puffed up one flight and then another, teens chugged behind me like it was no big deal (nice of them to not pass me) and gazed in wonder and innocent bewilderment as I gasped for air as if from under water at the very top of the stairs.

It wasn't long before I realized I would have to have something else to motivate me, since apparently health and weight loss weren't enough. I decided some creative problem-solving was in order and since I have a thing for British comedian/actor/eye candy Eddie Izzard, I began to envision him at the top of the stairs, waiting for me. Yum. Waiting for me why? I have no idea, the thought of him just being there was enough. I didn't think it through any further than that. I know, no fun, but every day I lifted one foot and then another thinking it would be a long time before anyone found me if I had a heart attack as I wound my way upward.

No heart-attacks so far, but I began to feel odd about my main motivation excluding God. So things became even stranger. You didn't think that was possible, did you?

I started imagining Jesus and Eddie up there on the last landing. There, no more odd feelings. Now there were just odd thoughts.

Would it still be okay to dress Eddie in something particularly attractive while standing next to the Lord? Hmmm. Wasn't sure about that. Eddie, being talkative at times, would be sure to strike up a conversation with Jesus, and what would they talk about? Could be an awkward situation, given the fact that Eddie claims to not believe in God. At least I knew Jesus better than to take the bait if Eddie decided to push His buttons and try to start an argument.

How much weight have I lost? I have no idea. I used to step cautiously onto the scale every morning, hoping for a Starting My Day Right result, yet often being disappointed, no matter how healthy I ate or how much exercise I had actually accomplished. But I can still fit into my current jeans (size 12, thankyouverymuch) and I have not died or fallen down the stairs just yet. So far so good. I'll just keep climbing and looking up...in my own way.

What's the Big Deal?

I don't understand people who reject God. I don't know if it's because they haven't thought it through, don't care, or what. It makes no sense whatsoever to me.

First of all, let's just get this out of the way: everyone knows there is a God.

Atheists won't admit it and Agnostics (who say God has created the world and then maintained a hands-off policy as though the world was merely a top He observes while it spins) have wimped out, but both groups know there is a God, or else they wouldn't have a thing to say about it (and you know how much noise Atheists are making these days about anything related to Him). So, the issue of His existence is a non-issue, right out of the gate.

The things people say to avoid God are amazing and leave me puzzled. "Being a Christian will make me uncool." "I'll do business with God when I'm on my deathbed." "I want to do things my way." On and on it goes...but they're just excuses, and none of them are true!

Picture this: a skinny little kid of about 12 or 13, watching a Christian TV program for the first time. That skinny kid was me. There I sat, on the floor in front of the TV, and I heard the person speaking say that salvation...the way to avoid Hell and to go to Heaven when you die...is free. Well, to my little mind, that meant that I could have that without having to pay for anything. I had no money to speak of and although I would have loved it, I had no credit card, so all of that for free sounded like a sweet deal to me! I accepted.

And it was. It is. It will be.

After all, Hell was never made for you or me. (Don't believe me? It's in the Bible. God's book. He's watched over all of the translations since someone decided to start translating it and it's never lost its meaning. Not once. When you write something important, you keep an eye on it!) Here's proof: at the end of time, Jesus is going to separate those who have accepted His free gift of salvation and those who haven't. They'll literally be on His right or His left. (Hint: you wanna be on the right!)

"Then he will say to those on His left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels." Matthew 25:41 NIV

Not prepared for us. Never meant for us.

And it's going to break His heart.

He doesn't want anyone to go there, but being the gentleman He is, He gives us the choice.

Why do so many reject such an amazing, undeserved gift? I believe that some think that the material items of this world they see as they pass through it are worth everything, but they're only temporary. Like fool's gold, they look very good, but are worthless. Nothing will drive that point home better than seeing a loved one die, then walking through their house. All of their things are still there, but they are not.

Others believe the lies the devil whispers about being uncool, etc. Lemme tell ya, there is NOTHING more uncool than going to Hell when you didn't have to, and since tomorrow isn't guaranteed, you have no idea what your death situation will be. You could be run over by a bus (God forbid!). You could be in a coma. Evangelists like Billy Graham who encourage you to accept the gift now, do so for a very good reason.

So how did this gift become available, anyway? Here's where that John 3:16 sign you've seen so often at football games comes into play (you knew it was good for something, right?):

For God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son so that anyone who believes in him [the son] shall not perish, but have everlasting life [in Heaven].

The Bible states that the payment for sin [doing bad things like lying, stealing, cheating, thinking bad thoughts, etc.] is death. That's how bad sin is for us, and in general. I'd love to be able to say I don't fall into this category, but everyone has sinned, and continues to sin (even when they don't realize it).

Jesus is God's Son, so he is the only one who didn't sin, therefore he is the only one who qualifies to take your punishment and mine for our sin - to pay our debt. He's also the only one that death couldn't hold, because he didn't qualify for death. Remember, death is the payment for sin. It's what you get if you sin, which Jesus never did.

It's as if you got a major traffic ticket and went to court. Ever been there? Don't answer that. The judge says, "You're guilty of speeding. Do you have money to pay the huge fine?" You pull out your wallet, and realize that you're broke. Your heart races, and you break out into a cold sweat, realizing that you will have to go to jail. Just then, someone enters the courtroom and announces that He's going to pay your fine. He's a guy you've seen around town but you don't really know him, and could never have done anything to earn this, but it's what gets you out of debt and jail. The judge takes a large red ink stamp and marks your case "Paid In Full". How cool is that?

God has made a way for our case to be Paid In Full. That's what the big deal is, and what a great deal it is! Don't miss it!

The Window

People who have kids are great. Kids are great. Families are great. BUT I am sooo tired of blogs and answering machines and everything else that is just covered in kids.

I don't hate kids...I just said they were great, after all, and I truly mean that. I am just sick of this window. You know the one I'm on the outside of, looking in.

I know, call me crazy, but let's examine the last straw for me. Or one in a series of recent "last straws":

I went on a lunch interview (never do that, I'll explain why another day) and of course the interviewer was intimidatingly tall, thin, blonde, stylishly dressed. She looked as though she hadn't a care in the world. I had a hunch that I was not going to enjoy this interview, and I was right. Wait, wait! These aren't the things I really had an issue with. It's when she sat down to eat and immediately announced that she is pregnant. Again.

Really? Do you HAVE to announce that at the beginning of ANYTHING?

What if I had just had a miscarriage?

What if I couldn't have kids?

What if that was the LAST thing I wanted to hear at any time, for any reason?

I can only imagine what she would have said or done if I had burst out into tears right there in the middle of the restaurant (and we were, literally, in the middle). But I didn't, I was too ticked off for that.

Given the situation, what had she forced me to do? Just what I'd done: I smiled graciously and congratulated her. Did she see my tightly closed teeth? The fact that the smile didn't reach my eyes? I think not.

In the past I've done a lot of babysitting, some nannying, church preschool teaching, and even some after-school-program-ing, so I love kids. I adore them. It's situations like these that I cannot stand. Oh, and please don't post or pass around your ultrasound photos. I know you're at that wonderful milestone and you can't wait to share your joy. But what if your joy is someone else's pain?

I want to share your happiness, I really do, it's just that I can't.

You are squarely where I have always wanted to be, and as the years go by, I am standing still in this department and suddenly you are sprinting gleefully by, blissfully unaware that you are leaving those grieving what might have been and hoping for what might be in your pink-and-blue wake.

You're pregnant and we're all supposed to be sensitive to you and your needs and your moods...but what about the silent ones around you to whom you are showing no sensitivity whatsoever? Is there a hormone that courses though the body of a pregnant woman causing her to no longer remember what it was like to pray for motherhood?

I know, these are the things that no one ever says. We think them, but we never speak them. We would be being "impolite". The best we could hope for after opening our mouths would be a condescending, pitiful, "There there, dear." kind of response. The best we could do after that would be to try our best not to wince at the inevitable, "Your turn will come.", or something sickeningly similar. So we grin, glance at your photos, and find an excuse to exit the room...not that you notice. You are enveloped in your pregnancy haze and are enjoying the congratulations and subtle new status.

Right about now you're thinking I'm bitter and I should just get over it. I'm not bitter, and I'm not alone. In fact, I'll bet there are some of you reading this who know exactly what I'm writing about, who I respect (as long as you don't go crazy and do anything illegal), because being childless in this or any culture is hard if you want children. It's probably at the very least annoying if you don't want them.

My nose is no longer pressed tightly against the glass.

I've learned better than to torture myself.

I'll still smile and say all of the right things. But it sure feels good to say the things that are normally "not allowed" (for reasons I have yet to ascertain other than the politeness factor). I don't care who is "offended" or upset or disgusted. Go back to folding your onesies with ears and sanitizing your whatever it is you have to sanitize next.

Wondering...

Ever since I went out with my mom for lunch at a local restaurant and saw my ex, I've been wondering what in the world was going on.

It was Labor Day, and anyone else would have stayed the heck home instead of driving all the way up here. As far as I know, he isn't in contact with his old buddy who lives a few towns away from mine (good thing, too - but that's another story), so that's off of my mental list of possibilities. Yes, it's possible that he wants me back, but this would only be because his little "girlfriend" in the Philippines probably dumped him after she figured out that she doesn't need to be abused and generally disrespected, much less by someone she's never even met.

I hadn't cleaned up the house in a few weeks from writing and other projects, and the downstairs plumbing had done it's best to mess up my floor downstairs, so if he came to my house before he went to the restaurant, he would have seen a totally abandoned yard (not mowed, bushes not trimmed) and if he looked inside, it would have looked like a disaster area. Not exactly what he would want to see (remember, he's the guy to whom I'd accurately said, "You don't want a wife. You want a maid, a cook and a dog."). So, the funny part about this (if he did stop by) is that for once me taking a break from trying to keep the house clean has been to my advantage!

The third option is that his mother is ill/dying and asking for me. I hope she's not in either of these conditions, but it's possible. She asked for me when she had her stroke about 5 or 6 years back. I would like to see her again before she departs, but I doubt that will happen. When she asked for me, the whole family rushed in, as if she couldn't possibly be asking to see just me for a change.

My ex didn't seem like he'd seen me or my mom. He walked casually out of the restaurant and sat on a bench. He sat there for almost five minutes, then left. I don't know why he sat there, except perhaps he was deciding what to do next. Chances are, he'd talked himself out of doing the right thing (whatever that would have been at the moment). He was so good at choosing the wrong path at just about every intersection. It was a case of, "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I, well I just did what I thought was best for me." I haven't seen him since.

But it's just as well, I was very nervous and kind of scared at seeing him again. I went home, locked the doors and felt much better. Fortunately we're not talking plastic doors like the one he ripped off the hinges at the townhouse. That was the last time he saw me, and good riddance. I was not about to put up with that nonsense. It was bad enough I'd tried to make the marriage work for almost a decade.

So since then, as my mind likes things to be settled, I have been trying to settle the issue. Trying to figure out what in the world was going on that day. There's hardly any use in trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. I've come to the conclusion that Ms. Philippine got tired of his crap and moved on, so he needed someone else to abuse in order to make himself feel better. That's what he does, after all. It's sick and sad and no longer my problem. Whew!

That Day

That morning I woke up having had the best sleep I'd had in years! My office didn't require us to dress up, but I felt so good that I put on a matching skirt, short-sleeved sweater, and necklace.

Driving to work, I looked up through the trees to see a blue patch of sky, and was amazed at how blue it was. It was a beautiful morning. My first hint at what was going on that day was a photo of the first crash sent to my inbox by my boss.

In the center of the office, someone propped a large radio up on one of the cubicles. We listened intently, not knowing what was going to happen next. When the second attack occurred, some left the office visibly upset, knowing that relatives in New York City were likely in danger.

At lunchtime I visited my parents as usual. Parked outside of their home, I turned on the radio for a moment. I will never forget how it sounded. As announcer after announcer broke in to report on the situation, the result was continuous jumbled chaos.

Inside, my father and I stood in amazement as we watched the events unfold on TV. We talked about it and about the fact that we were now at war. I didn't know a lot about this kind of attack and the kind of war which takes place as result, but he did. Doubtless his memory flashed back to the attack upon Pearl Harbor and his service in the Navy and that of his brothers in the Army and Marines, respectively.

After work, my ex-husband and I stood equally amazed as we watched TV. Shaken by the events of the day, it was good to finally slip back into sleep that night.

Today I wish I could speak with my father to get his impression of what has happened in this country since his death, and if our nation is again attacked, I will want to know what he would say to that, as well. Of course, I hope that never happens, but who can tell?

9/11 is etched on our minds and on our hearts, so while I might not remember where I put my car keys, I can remember in memory and emotion, details of that day like none other. Where were you that day?

Brookie

How I love that dog! Her name is Brook, but her owners and I affectionately call her "Brookie". You can tell right away that she is sweet - her eyes say it for her. She's a Lab/Something Else mix. I got to see her today because her owners were out of town. We had a nice afternoon in and out of the house, even going for a long walk around the neighborhood.

"We" watched a show on how to choose the dog that is right for you. Yup, I still want a pup. One of these days, when I can better afford one, of course. I still want a Pug or a Pomeranian. If I had enough room and it wouldn't terrify my cats, I'd have a Lab. I'll stick to smaller dogs. For some reason they live longer, for one thing. I don't know what the other thing is.

Lately I have been turning in around 2am for some unknown reason, but tonight I am pretty much worn out. I really don't like being in my 40s, as I get tired from stupid things, like running around the coffee table chasing Brook while she plays her own version of keep-away with a her toy. Just a few laps, and I'm ready to sit down and breathe a lot. Whew! It's pitiful.

I missed her, and I think she missed me. It was a good day. I look forward to seeing her again! :)

Today

Today I received my first check for my very first articles in a magazine. I am so excited! Yes, I was a professional writer the moment I started writing for a media information company several years ago (before the layoff), but this is different. This is in print in a very nice magazine. This is writing that is genuinely appreciated by the magazine owner/editor, and I am not merely another employee in a large corporation that no one listens to. She listens, she takes my ideas into consideration, she is happy to have my dedication and creativity.

Today I also saw a writing contest held by a different publication, and whereas several years ago I might not have given it a second thought, now I am seriously considering giving it my best shot and seeing what happens. I believe I could actually win. The prize is a good one, but that would really be secondary. The prize for me would be winning - knowing that not only do I now believe I can do it, but that I actually CAN.

I know where this uncertainty came from. It came from years and years of classmates, teachers and others daily instilling by one method or another, the thought that I should not be who I am and cannot do what I dream. Reasonable dreams, perhaps...nothing too big or too outside of the box. That I was not good enough in some way or another. That I was not who I "should" be. I can even recall someone in a position of authority at the media company telling me that I could not do something on the computer that I knew beyond all doubt that I could. I felt as though I had a sign on my forehead that read: "Please disregard my intelligence and underestimate my ability." It has been as if to believe in myself was somehow wrong. As if almost everyone around me was saying. "Oh no, not you, you can't do that. Maybe someone else, but not you."

And so, ever since my divorce I have been in the process of un-brainwashing myself. Of cleaning out the garbage that others have tried to pile into my heart...I often wonder how long this process will take. All my life? No matter how long, the process is obviously so worth it. Today is proof, and I hope it's just the beginning.

My Love Affair...

I have a grand love affair with food. It started as a teen and then became fanned into flame by the rejection of my ex-husband, which began the first half of the first year of our marriage (when I was a beautiful size 6, but that wasn't good enough for him). Food became my lover, a source of comfort and joy.

That's not to say I eat junk or I'm constantly eating, but when I eat, it's pretty darn close to a religious experience. As I write this, I'm debating if I should get some pizza - or a whole pizza for a late dinner tonight. I typically either forget or get so busy during the day that I don't eat until I am tear-your-hair-out hungry, and of course by then I am too cranky to cook. Such is the case tonight, when I am once again hungry. NOW.

I am not a professional cook, but when I throw something together, I eat well. That doesn't mean that I eat large, calorie-laden casseroles draped in cheese (though that sounds pretty good, now that I mention it), or gourmet dishes. It means I eat very healthy and mostly I guess you could say I enjoy Mediterranean-style food. It's inexpensive, doesn't require 500 ingredients and usually hits the spot without becoming a permanent part of my physique.

If I get pizza tonight, I can pay for it by the pet care I sometimes do. If I don't, I will be down in the kitchen grumbling as I look for something quick and filling to eat. I know, while the world is inundated in tragedies such as the economy, the weather, and earthquakes, I'm ruminating about what to eat next. But it's hard when your culinary paramour calls your name, and your stomach is in hearty agreement.

Just a moment, my love...while I find my phone to place an order.

Maybe my next post should be about how my phone seems to have a mind of its own.

The Job

I love my job. One of them. All of them. (I have several, but still am not making what I need to pay all of my bills + my mortgage.) My most recent addition is that of Social Media Manager for a magazine. I love getting paid for that which I would be doing anyway on my own! Right now the magazine is published twice a year (warm and cold seasons, respectively). I hope it will grow with the work I am doing with regard to social media. So far so good!

Meanwhile, I am hoping to get a second job or full-time work with another place where I currently work per diem. People who work there I've never met peek at my LinkedIn page from time to time. I wonder if anything will come of it?

No, I'm not sitting on my hands, waiting for things to happen, but on the other hand I've learned enough to know that although I am responsible for doing what I can, the rest is best left up to God. He can see the unusual panorama that is my life from beginning to end, so with that perspective and given the fact that His son has died in my place (and yours, by the way), who am I to not trust Him to do right by me? In the past I have done things on my own with no regard to His plans for my life. When you do that, life really smacks you. Hard. It's all good though, you can't help but learn the lesson that God can be trusted.

So whose job is it to get me The Job or Jobs that will not only keep me from drowning in the murky waters that are this ridiculous economy but enable me to thrive? It's both my job and God's job. As the saying goes, I do my best, and leave the rest to Him. It doesn't sound very profound, and it's actually very simple, but sometimes the simple lessons in life are the most important.

Fast Forward to Now (Sort Of)

I can't believe it's taken me this long to get back here to my blog. So much has happened, and yet - as is typical for my life so far - not nearly enough. A sleepy turtle's life moves faster than mine. I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, though.

Speaking of sleepy, that's what I am at the moment (it's almost 1 am) so this post will be short. It'll be good to get back to writing for the heck of it more often. I have even fewer excuses than before for not doing the things in my life that distinguish it as my own.