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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.

..head gear(:

p.s. i knit.

“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.

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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.

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.
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waiting for nothing to start
it’s getting late
why don’t we call it a day
i could easily go for a drink
watching you shrink
this isn’t easy to say
but i’d like to get over
i’d like get over you

never knew love was a fad
you fooled me bad
wish you were easy to hate
but i’m stuck in the middle for now
wondering how
i entertain this debate
and i’d like to get over
i’d like to get over you

why did you stop
doing the things you did
to make me fall
when did you start
framing my dreams
to hang on your white walls

dinner for two lost its taste
when i embraced
all of your leftover bait
and i wish we had never gone stale
but who could tell
your expiration date
oh i’d like to get over
i’d like to get over you

why did you stop
building our little home
the picket fence
when did you start
complimenting in past
and future tense

stop wandering through my mind
as you once were
start hoping that i’ll come back
when you’re the last man on earth

i guess that i should have known
throw the first stone
if you feel perfect today
oh i’d like to get over
i’d like to get over you

oh hum.

the melancholies  hit hard this week. but for some reason, i am light at heart! i am reading a book called the BFG. here is an excerpt of my favorite part. this books lifts my mood like some kind of chemical.

“By music, do you mean tunes?” (says Sophie)

“I is not meaning tunes.” (says the Big Friendly Giant)

“Than what do you mean?”

“Human beans is having their music, right or left?”

“Right,” Sophie said. “Lots of music.”

“And sometimes human beans is very overcome when they is hearing wonderous music. They is getting shivers down their spindles. Right or left?”

“Right,” Sophie said.

“So the music is saying something to them. It is sending a message. i do not think the human beans is knowing what that message is, but they is loving it just the same.”

“That’s about right,” Sophie said.

“But because of these jumpsquiffling ears of mine,” the BFG said, “I is not only able to hear the music that dreams is making but I is understanding is also.”

here is my second favorite part:

“I think you speak beautifully,” Sohpie repeated.

“Well, that is the nicest present anybody is ever giving me in the whole life!” cried the BFG. “Are you sure you is not twiddling my leg?”

“Of course not.” Sophie said. “I just love the way you talk.”

“How wondercrump!” cried the BFG, still beaming. “How whoopsy-splunkers! How absolutely squiffling! I is all of a stutter.”

I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS BOOK. its fun to read aloud(:

p.s. this made me laugh and brightened my day tremendously.

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