a buttload of pictures:

snapshots of the happenings :)

bestfrand comes home for thanksgiving!

thanksgiving happens.

uh,

my birthday happens! ^awesome friends i have.

i have legs.

i get a ukulele from my favorite aunt! <3

chupp and i named it wade :)

chupp and i have a dance party in her dorm at Taylor!

we start a trend. fierce.

3G pranked^

it is very chilly out.

the end.

saved by a teaspoon?

somehow, the word frustration is beautiful. it can be said with however much angst needed and or deserves. lets define it.

 

i choose: “a feeling of dissatisfaction, often accompanied by anxiety or depression, resulting from unfulfilled needs or unresolved problems”. and woah, “a deep chronic sense or state of insecurity and dissatisfaction arising from unresolved problems or unfulfilled needs” and from the medical dictionary, “The condition that results when an impulse or an action is thwarted by an external or an internal force or the blocking or a thwarting of an impulse, purpose, or action.”

 

dissatisfaction, anxiety, depression, insecurity, unresolved.

 

i am in need of that vice called a job, otherwise unfortunately known as money. the frustrated self inside of me is in a “deep chronic” state. this has been going on for months. this money situation extends to all areas of my life. i wish i could say, “screw bills!” but i can’t. there are phone bills and insurance bills. how old am i? eighteen. what is looming darkly on the horizon? students loans and college.

 

scholarships seem as silly as trying to bail out your sinking boat with a teaspoon. my dreams seem as silly as throwing little pebbles at a 50 foot wall hoping a hole will form. my dreams are as simple as eating a pomegranate on a window seat and as unattainable as catching the brownie that lives in the corners of your house. you need magical powers for it to work.

 

but, magic doesn’t exist.

 

i’m in the pits.

i was born on the first day of december..

which means the beginning of the end..

i am legal!!

p.s. thats me right  there ^ :)

pie, gravy, tea, christmas music..

i am thankful for so many things. food, family, friends, letters, music, guitars, texting, wifi, sisters, gravy, best friends, lovers, star trek, books, halfprice books, rice, turkey, beef, cows, fruit, gum, cameras, christmas lights, spongebob, toothbrushes, tongues, couches, cold weather, gingersnaps, slippers, thrifting, macbooks, tortellini, cooking, pencils, socks, boys, (boys? what is this doing on this list?) boys, redbox, cars, paint, aunts, ukeleles, birthdays, apples, gala apples, shoes, taylor university, pennyloafers, stamps, porcupines, sand, journals, & tea.

tea series no. 15

winter..

..head gear(:

p.s. i knit.

pumpkin seedlings

“i spent the night at a friend’s house and i rode a trolley. i helped a prof. photographer by holding the big white sun-blocker thing. i drank a mocha. (COFFEE!) and i’m making stir fry to have rach over. i am wearing dark jeans, a red cardigan, and a purple scarf. i miss my roommate a lot and i cried. she left me some poems she had written and i am waiting for the moment when i can slip way to read them.”

that was an email i sent han.

mmm(:

maybe a book review, maybe an essay, maybe a page from my notebooks.

Words; I am in love with them.

There are so many used for words. For a storyteller they are golden hammers and silver nails. To the reader they can be perceived as much as the person reading the words opens up their mind. For example, I was listening to a Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle and obviously it is a wonderful story of the fight between good and evil. But I could tell one of the persons with me was disturbed when she asked me, “and what exactly do you love about this story?” I was talking to someone who told me that when they watched the most recent Harry Potter movie they left the theatre very moved. Because, they explained, anything with a battle of good and evil and morals and immorality and courage and strength can only come from God, because that is the only place those kinds of things come from. She was saying that God could speak through anything. I believe that with my heart.

Books I respect, I read twice. I feel the writer deserves to be appreciated for their sacrifice of writing out of their hearts. Just like each thing that hits you fantastically didn’t just appear; it has been there since the moment it was put by the author. There are so many descriptions that sometimes I read over; yet I feel (and have written about before) that this disrespects the writer who labored over those descriptions. Sometimes words are used in the one-dimensional sense, a horizontal story that simply means what it says. Words are forced into this. This is also what people desire to read, I’m afraid to generalize, because you can predict whets going to happen; you are excited but not surprised. After I read them these stories become to me like a worthless anti-thinking coating that spreads itself across the inside of my mind.

OR words can be used to make a three dimensional story (really no dimensions can hold these stories) that is as deep as it is wide. Why do you think thesauruses were invented? Words can hide such painful double meanings. For example, someone recently told me that they thought I resented them. I looked up resentful in the thesaurus and came up with words like war-like, hateful, malicious, and viperous to name a few. Yeah, maybe I wished that their face were kicked in, but only in my mind.

Oh, the words of this book, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. these words are incredibly used. They are not used; they are borrowed and molded and sculpted and formed by their own free will. He does not use laughed or sad, he uses his own expressions the words have given him. He owns them by their own choice. That is the best kind of writing. I picture it as the author having a conference with the words and he tells them what he plans to do and wants to do and the words loved his idea. And in turn the words themselves told the story back to me the reader, shared those secrets with me, which only words written in such a way could tell. You don’t realize the significance of words until you read another phrase saying the same thing and you hear and soak in the secret and sit back and breathe.

I feel like a cup of hot water that is infused by a teabag; a rare black tea called “extremely loud and incredibly close”.

I’ll take my tea strong; no cream or sugar; straight and bitter and absolutely pure.

I’m not saying I’m sure I can handle it, but that’s not stopping me.

85 emails.

i miss you with feelings miles long

pretty much so deeply i’ll write a song

about love and life and all things that mean anything

to a silly tune to which we dance and perchancey sing

a ballad where epic movies and cooking meet

conveniently in middle and we’ll have tea with our feet.