Friday, December 2, 2011

At Least I Did Not Walk

This is a poem that has been resonating in my head whenever I run. Its simple, I know, but I think it has a lot to say about life in general, especially my Christian walk (or run). Paul said to run the race well and to finish well. Sometimes you've just gotta keep plodding along, knowing that one day you'll break the tape and step through the pearly gates.

I did not walk on my morning jog today. 
At times, I may have had to run very, very slow,
But at least I did not walk. 

Friday, November 25, 2011


What is it like to be you?
I see only from my point of view
What is it like to be me?
You guess by what you can see.
What if I stepped in your shoes?
What if you wore my brain?
Would we be hopeless, confused?
Or better understand one's pain?

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Music Video - Will You Love Me

Love this sweet little video. Though by listening to the song, I think it's more about us and the Lord. This band, the Vespers, is just starting out, and they do their own filming, so some of the shots are not exactly professional, but it gives me something to analyze =)

Sunday, November 13, 2011


Well, how do you guys like the new layout? I know, all my blogs are WHITE right now, but it's nice and clean, and you can see everything =) I'll try to fill the margins with pretty buttons if it's not too cluttery. Ah! It feels so nice to be organized! Ok, I've got to put the finishing touches on my paper. Have a wonderful, blessed Monday m'dears, and I hope you are all getting ready for the Holidays, 'cause I'm already pulling out the Christmas movies (I know, I'm terrible =P )


Friday, October 21, 2011

Short Story: It Was

It's been far too long since I've written one of these. I'm needing to work out my writing muscles a bit. This is, after all, supposed to be WRITING blog =P
So, here's something I came up with while watching a movie. Enjoy =)
                                             It Was

It was a comfortable night. The kind of night you sit with your best friend or a mug of cocoa, knowing that you won’t fall asleep, and not caring in the least. It was that sort of night in November when a girl and boy sat in a café, counting the number of cars passing by the window which was covered in beads of mist. The girl wore a sweet frock, comfortable as you please, and the boy wore a sweater rolled up to his elbows.

Everything was at ease, and it was pleasant. The world felt as though it had never shifted much, the café was all that mattered. The owner of the café was a nice man with an Italian name and accent, and he was busy, polishing his prized antique silver plate, thinking how grand it was to own such a thing and how good his costumers were.

The Italian knew all those seated in his café by one thing or another. Some he knew by name, others by their face or a particular trait he had noticed. The boy and the girl seated by the window had come in a few times; their conversation was always varied, from trite bits of information, to the placement of the soul within the human being, and why MacDonald was the master at backhanded learning. Sometimes they were completely silent, but it was never uneasy. It was warm and quiet and thoughtful, which had been the intended nature of the café.

There were others that night. The Scarf Lady, who was always jotting down notes between sips of her café au lait; the Italian surmised she must be a spy or a journalist, or a mystery writer at least. There was the old, black couple whose soft laughter and hard hands told a story without words. Then there was Ernie, the bus driver on 47th street. He always came to the café after his shift and took his coffee back to his “house on wheels” as he called it. The Italian liked Ernie; he was always looking on the bright side of things.

The girl in the sweet frock was looking out at the rain falling lightly under the streetlights, as light as powdered snow, and the boy was slathering some jam and butter across his third muffin when the girl suddenly gasped. She turned, facing nowhere, listening hard. “What’s this song?”
“I don’t know,” the boy answered; now listening as well.

The song strained softly through the speakers, first with light flute, then wild but hushed violin.
“Oh, I’ve got to find out!” The girl said, her eyes snapped with the boys and he, transfixed by the music, nodded. He rose and walked to the counter. “Sir,” he asked the Italian, “What is the name of this song?”

“I don’t know!” The Italian tuned his ear to the song, floating through the café. It was indeed remarkable. It was filled with knowledge, but questions, with a little sight, but hope of much more. It was wild, and sweet, and intense, and he knew he would want to listen to it again as soon as it was over. Quickly, he ran to the radio. Jonathan, the soundboard slash kitchen boy had just changed the station.

“Jonathan!” The Italian asked, “What is the name of the song they’re playing?”

Jonathan shrugged, “I don’t know!” He saw the Italian sigh. Perhaps it was an old love song. “I could call the station. They could probably tell me.”

“Call them!”

Jonathan picked up the receiver, and a thrill shot up his spine as the notes vibrated through the café. Powerful, old, strange, and sweet, like a familiar battle hymn he had always known. He dialed with fervor.

The station switchboard man, half asleep with yesterday’s newspaper across his chest was listening lazily to the silence surrounding him. He wore his headphones around his neck and kept those on low. He heard enough music throughout the day. The phone rang and shocked him into existence. He blinked a few times in succession before casting aside the paper and picking up. When he did, he heard a strangely excited voice on the line.

A young man asked if he had the correct station for his area. The switchboard man said yes. “Do you know what song is playing right now?” The question was asked as though the asker should know, as though everyone should know, but didn’t.

The switchboard man wrinkled his brow. “What?” He asked, a little taken aback.

“The song! What is it? We can’t figure it out! It’s not Beethoven, it’s not Johann, and it’s not Bach. It’s different… listen!”

So the switchboard man listened. He put on his headphone with one ear. Then two. It was superb. It was beautiful! Once emerged in it, he really didn’t want to pull himself away from the music and back to the phone. The only thing that made the pain of separation worth it was the thought that the song might be sought out and repeated. “Hang on,” he said anxiously through the phone.

The café had turned into a music hall. Everyone paused, no, stopped to listen to the hauntingly lovely notes. It was almost painful to listen to them! It swelled like an oceans wave, and stretched out its hand to touch your heart. You heard it coming, and you almost felt it! But before it could grab you and dissolve you into the world where it belonged, a sweet, wonderful, strange and strangely familiar world that we can’t reach, it would melt away again, back into the sweet ocean where it belonged. The girl sat with her eyes drifting from the rain, to the eyes of the boy, and to the Italian who stared hard at the counter. Ernie quietly sipped his coffee, as though drinking the song itself. The black couple seemed to have tears in parts of their eyes. The Scarf lady seemed anxious, her pen flying furiously across the page as though to capture the song, and defy its specter-like enigma.

It was ending. No one wanted to say it, but they could all feel it. The switchboard man had unplugged his headphones and let the room fill unabashed with the song. But as soon as he had done so, he felt that he had betrayed its magic. He quickly plugged the headphones back in. He had just finished calling Jonathan.
Jonathan hung up the phone. “They can’t find it,” he said quietly.

The switchboard man had called the station manager. The station manager called the music company. The music company returned the call saying that the song had been issued by an artist, a great artist who wished to remain anonymous. Upon his death, he requested that this song be played once, just once. It had been released that afternoon to be played. The lone copy of the song was to be buried alongside him the next day. It was already sealed in the coffin. The station manager called the switchboard man. The switchboard man called Jonathan. Jonathan sighed. The song was nearly over. He would listen to the last overtures, soaking in the last bits of the tune as though it were the last drops of water he would ever drink. The girl sighed. The boy felt strange and strong and warrior-like, with the heart of a Rembrandt poet underneath his tawny skin.

It was over. The last notes drifted out to sea. The kindly ghost left a trail of a smile in the corners of everyone’s eyes.

“That broke my heart,” said the black man.

“But it was the right sort of breaking. It was breaking our hearts to tell us they need to be mended. One day we will face it again and dive into it, being estranged from it no more. We won’t ever hear it again, but it was meant to be that way. To hear it again would be sacrilege. It was beautiful for tonight. It was…”

Monday, October 3, 2011

Wakeful Poedise

Ah! Fall. Thy leaves fall in ember tones beneath my feet.
The air is sharp to the touch
I am pricked with its cold.
Oh odd feeling, fluttering between my lungs
explain yourself.
What are you?
Who are you standing there
in autumned shadows
Burnt on Summer's bright wings.
Is it cold you bring to my heart?
Or the memories of something colder.
The old things, the dear old things
are gone from my eyes.
The light grows dimmer each day
Night gathering a larger appetite.
It eats more of the fair sun than I
care to admit.
In my room,
I shut the blinds
and without blankets
mine arms are cold.
What will the future bring?
Dear LORD,
show me thy plans.
I am full of wakeful wonderings
Almost to a pain.
I remember things again.
I remember standing there
Wanting to ask questions
but loath to speak.
And now, it is all past.
I could let my burning lungs collapse with a grateful sigh!
But the air will not leave.
It is true I said goodbye.
But last year lingers in my bones
as I wonder what the future holds.
The old year's face
still burns my eyes
till they shine with tears.
Oh darling Spring,
come ever near
straight through Fall
from within Winter's heart!

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Grey October Sky

A random bit of writing: 

Too much. The world was too much. I stepped outside to get something from the van. The mossy pavement met my bare feet with a cold embrace. Delighted, I looked up at the street lights. The world was dimming, and no one was out to see it.
The clouds of the sky seemed like an endless amount of eye that looked right into my soul. It was a sea, and I, desperate to swim in it, was held back by my bonds of earth-hood. I looked to the door. No one would miss me. And so, I ran. I ran through puddles, my feet striking hard against the asphalt. I ran past houses, without a thought or a care. 

I ran beneath a Grey October Sky in the month of April. The day was misplaced, and there was no time! I came to a bend in the road, and I wondered which to take. My hair became wet in the mist as I waited. I made the choice to continue on, wondering what I would find there. My hair stood on end... would it be Someone Important? Or Nothing at All? Perhaps Something I Couldn't See! 

I ran wholeheartedly into the forest, where the pavement grew thin and the light grew darker. I held my breath at the middle of the path, wondering what I had found, wondering at what had found me! My heart sighed for that which is beyond my feeble words, and the mist comforted me. I walked in this, I delighted in this. Then I  laughed within myself and my feet flew down the road once again. 

As I entered the glow of my own porch lights, the world was still ever heavy. But the clouds rumbled with laughter, and said to not fear, for I have never been Atlas, nor shall I ever be. I know the Atlas of the world, and He is the Atlas of my Soul! 

Lets Have A Ball!

So... since I had no intention of ever going to my senior prom, and we always have a terrifically fun party to kick off the Summer at my house, I thought "Hey, lets have a ball! Not just a dance, but a real ball!" This idea caught on with my sister, and it grew until it was about 8 people large. Lexie (also known as Loo and Doab, or Daba) wanted to start planning in May, but at the time I was up to my eyeballs in school work, and barely had time to take a breath, let alone plan a party. We also had a few scheduale setbacks, so the party kept getting pushed further and further into the future until it looked like we were never going to have the ball!

But, at last, a date was settled upon! July 21-22! We were going to have the time of our lives! But first, we had to plan... I've always loved hosting things, and planning parties. We started with the decor. First, we moved all of our living room furniture into the dining room (which was so cozy and sweet looking that it hence became one of the favorite rooms in the house!). We put our long dining room table in the living room, put it up against the window, and planned on putting a vase of lovely flowers on it. So that was taken care of. A while back, Lexie and Daddy painted the room. It was really in need of a new coat, and now it looked nice and clean.

Katie had come up with the idea that it should be a masquerade ball. I thought that was a terrific idea, because it would not only make the ball look more sophisticated, but the mask would make a great memoir. Katie, Lexie, Rachel (Roo) and I made these darling little masks, I'll have to take a picture of them. They were pretty easy to make. I just made a paper template, cut out cardboard, and then we covered the cutouts with beads, fabric, and lace.

Katie and I had done some previous food planning since we wanted to have a seven course meal. So, it went like this...


Broccoli Cream Soup

Bread Sticks with Brochetta or Delightful Cheese Sauce (the "delightful" cheese sauce was a reference to a show Rachel and I used to listen to, hence everything at the ball had to be "delightful!)

Chinese Hoisin Noodles

Steak or Chicken with Cooked Vegetables (sweet potatoes, zucchini, sweet peas)

Lemon Ice

Fruit - Watermelon balls, pineapple, strawberries

Dessert - Ice Cream Balls, Chocolate Mousse, Cream Cheese Cookie Rolls, and Cookies

We had some good eatin's... =9 I love food probably a little too much =) But we tempered and measured everything so you got a few bites of lots of things and were full but not stuffed. It was "a parade of taste."

Loo and I had assembled a good list of dance music, and much of it was the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack. You know, the only problem with that soundtrack is that its too short... Mamma did lots of hair and makeup. Rachel got me flowers to stick in my hair. I had great fun!

We watched Pride and Prejudice since Katie had never seen a Jane Austen movie (for shame!) and then afterwards, we went outside, hoping to see the stars but only seeing a thick blanket of cloud hanging in the night sky.

The next morning, we had a little"bed & breakfast" meal, with teacups and teapots and the works. Tip I found out; if you want to cheaply add color to an arrangement, buy cute napkins =)

Mamma went to Grandpa's that day, so we were left with an empty house, an almost empty fridge, and a pocket full of memories...


Pretty Poses, Funny Noses

Sunday, June 26, 2011

To Dream a Dream Through Restless Colors

Soaring from the wind
a river of mist flowing o'r my shoulder
There is no descent
and the climb becomes colder
yet I shall climb higher into the sky
Higher ever still
The Sun is my guide
the solace a chill
I weep soaring over the chimneys
The harps of the voices of birds
sing unto me
so sweetly strong
I sweep up the wrongs
Oh delight which no one else can enter
the Still Small Voice
and I alone
on this mountain
with a thousand other faces below
whom I dare not look to, lest I hurt them with myself
Run, run away from me!
I run to the mountainside
to the cave of the Lion
I beg Him to take away the wrongs
and give me rights
rights to death
and wings of light
so that I may fly
and be free from me
I laugh and wipe the tears from my eyes
as He stares into my soul
the complications melt away
and I am left breathless
in the simplicity and the silence of the night
As I relax my grip upon my world, my life, my soul
all becomes clear
and I sigh
my spine relaxing
He sets me to sleep beneath the whirring fan
and I hear His voice like gentle thunder
singing over my head, and His footsteps on my roof top
How beautiful
I rest
I drift
to sleep...

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Brown Couch Rocket

It is 12:05
I am sitting in a clean living room
I feel that I am in a dark space ship
And I don't know where it will take me
I am thoughtful
A silent dull sob sits in my stomach
So much hope from the future
May I not be buried in the past
I am floating above the silent launch pad
I am ready to embrace the sky
Come what may
He will hold fast
This may be the last time I see this place
Should I close my eyes, I may be carried away
Oh dreamer of restless sleep
And tired eyes are my comfort
My thoughts are dull with numb, tired, pain
I fight
I smile
I sigh
I see the flickering lights of the VCR
like the flicker of a smile on an angels face
and I will drift off
to the place
where I can sleep
and delights and dangers await
until the Glorious One Arrives

Sunday, June 19, 2011

My Door, My Kettle, My Love

I was just watching your back leave for the last time
I feel it was inadequate when I said my goodbye
I hope you know how very deeply I love you
and I hope that you see my house is your home too

I hope that you know
my door is always open to you
And as you grow
my kettle is always on
I hope it shows
My love, for you my love
if life brings rain upon your head
my arms are always open

I waved and hugged you goodbye
our lives on earth will be erased in time
but as I move toward the finish line
Heaven is calling to let our love shine

I hope that you know
my door is always open to you
And as you grow
my kettle is always on
I hope it shows
My love, for you my love
if life brings rain upon your head
my arms are always open

Monday, June 13, 2011

The Room of Glass

In a lonely field, but not lonely so as to be sad, only very quiet and peaceful, there stood a beautiful house. Within this house, one of the rooms was made of glass. I cannot tell you who owned the house, for no one ever knew or asked the question, but I can tell you one person who lived there. A maiden dressed in chiffon, which seemed to change color from blue to white and white to blue depending on the light which surrounded her and what time of day it was, would go to the room made of glass. All around the room was a bending sea of tall, green grass, but not because it had never been tended to. On the contrary, it had been loved and played in. Children's laughter had rustled through it. No, it was kept tall so that the wind might swish herself through it, and so that as she swept, the trees would hear the song brushing from the floor the sky. Like tossing hair, gently it swayed outside the window, and the lady in glass room, tall and small and beautiful, with anticipation always upon her face, would dance. As the wind blew, her feet swept across the floor, and one could almost see the wind rush into the room itself. When it rained, the water cascaded over the glass, seeming to pour into the room and into the very soul of the maid who danced beneath the torrent. Though she danced in a room of glass, it was difficult to see her movements, for like a drop of rain or breath of wind she moved so quickly at times, and so slow at others that it seemed at times she did not dance, but she was always dancing. Even if only her eyes gazed, there was dancing behind them. And in her eyes, in her being, in her whole frame was an expectancy, anticipation, and waiting. And always when something caught her eye, her soul, she would look upward. Some said that she was waiting for the roof to undo, and for something extraordinary diminish the glass and carry her away to a further place where there stood a glassy sea, and smiles, and laughter, and song and dance awaited those who were found.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Pictures From Senior Speech Day

Night before the big showdown...
Too tired...
Lets Go! 
Be With Me Jesus!
Determination Sets In
Nerves In The Hallway
Thoroughly Tired And Walking Home

It was rather hard to get a picture of the entire dress, so I'll have to do that sometime when I have time ;)

Friday, June 3, 2011

In 1789, the Turtles Invaded America. I haven't Slept for 24 Hours, and General Joe Washington was Our First President, Get Up, Its Senior Speech Day!

So... Wednesday...

The night before my presentation, I looked something like this...
I felt really tired, to be quite honest. Too tired to be nervous, too tired to care, to tired to do anything but SLEEP. So I promptly went to sleep. Then, I woke up, and got ready for school. I decided not to go for morning classes since I would only have one 20 minute math class that morning. Instead, my mom dolled me up and I dressed in my smart little 50's dress with a little brown sweater. I puttered about the house for a few hours, cleaning here cleaning there, thinking "in one hour, in forty minutes, in fifteen minutes, I'll be in front of people I don't know, giving my presentation... Boy am I TIRED!

I put all my things in front of the door at least 30 minutes in advance, and then double checked everything at least four times. Good thing too, because I had somehow lost my memory stick with my project on it. However, I was too tired to be upset, so I just prayed and looked for another one, which I soon found in Lexie's drawer (thanks Loo!). I put my project on the new memory stick, placed it in my bag, and resumed my puttering. I thought that it was such a shame that I couldn't be more excited. I was plumb tuckered out from this whole school year!

At last, it was 10:15. I put on my little brown suede heels and headed out the door, hauling my backpack which held my enormous project binder. As I walked, I listened to Sufjan Stevens, first listening to "Now that I'm Older" and then "All For Myself." As I listened to that last song, the school appeared as the music swelled, and a few lonely raindrops fell from the heavy grey sky. I smiled and cars began to pull in and out of the parking lot. Everyone else was leaving but the seniors who had to present. I went to my senior project classroom to pick up my hard-worked poster, and wished everyone good fortune and prayed for us all. Ms. Monty said we'd all do really well. I hoped I wouldn't flop. I went to my room (D103) and I checked everything on the computer. I was glad I did because one of my slides needed fixing (oh, outdated computers, bothersome you!). Once I fixed all that up, I set up my poster, and completely forgot my binder. I left the room, like our teacher, Ms. Monty had said to. She had said "be sure your posters are set up, and then leave the room. Your poster should be good because this is the FIRST IMPRESSION THEY WILL GET OF YOU, YOUR PROJECT, AND YOUR SOUL!" Ok, maybe not the soul part, but it sounded like our panelists were ready to bite our heads off!

I went nervously to the hall, where a bunch of other kids were standing around. We didn't really know what to do, or where to go. Though our teachers had taught us nearly everything, they were very vague on the details of the actual beginning of the presentation. So we all just sort of stood around the hallway.

"You nervous?"

"Not really. You nervous?"


"Yeah... We'll be fine. I mean I think so. I hope so! Whats your project?"

"Oh I did aksjdhf. And you?"

"I did lkhwerhy."

*someone else joins the group and the entire conversation starts up again*

It was quite funny to see everyone dressed up. Especially Guy, who is normally really outgoing and says what is on his mind. He wears really "teenage" clothes, and then that day he was dressed in a sweater and khaki pants. I had to take a step back! He said he was really nervous, and in that yellow striped sweater, he did look rather like a nervous bumblebee. I spoke with Laura, who did a dancing project. She was in my English class with Ms. Lucas. Then I spoke with Reese (who is basically our school mascot from middle-school and the all around person whom everybody knows), and another boy named Will (whom I had always thought looked like Mike from "Down Gilead Lane"... Anyway, an announcement came over the loudspeakers, or as Mr. G called it "the god-box" and told us that we would begin presentations at 11:45, but to check into our rooms at 11:15. This seemed a strange, and awfully long waiting period. Were they trying to make us nervous???

In the hallway someone shouted "11:15!" and we all darted off to our classrooms, with the last handshakes and "good lucks" behind us. I went into my room and met my two other fellow classmates who were Will and Nichole. Then we faced our panelists who seemed very nice, except the guy, (whom I can't remember the name of, lets just call him Mr. Red (he had red hair)), who seemed just as tired as I was. Ms. Chambers was something like a jolly aunt, and Ms. Petterson seemed like the type of person who might work at a nursing home, really quiet and calm. Ms. Chambers sat in the middle, and her wide eyes seemed to be the only ones focused in on the speakers at all times. We students sat in the back row of the classroom. Ms. Chambers and Ms. Petterson read my letter with interest. I was getting nervous.

Nichole wanted to go first. Will wanted to second. I was fine with being last. So, Nichole did her presentation, which was on learning to play guitars and recording music. I thought she did a fabulous job, especially considering that she had lost her cards, and was having to simply pull from her slides (which only had pictures on them). She reminded me of Rachel in the sense that she LOVED music, and wanted to pursue a music career.

Then Will went. He was very confident (reminded me something of Eugene from Adventures in Odyssey) and he talked about investing. I thought he did very well on his presentation. His voice was clear, his slides were easy to follow, and the information was good. However, he mentioned investing in bio-tech and I had a shot up through my spine thinking "NO, BAD IDEA! RED FLAG! PULL OVER!" But thats a really long story =P. As he shut down his powerpoint, and pulled out his memory stick from the computer, I realized just how unprepared I was. I wanted time to think over what I must stay, I wanted hours, days, weeks, but there it was now or never. I waited nervously as the judges... I mean panelists scribbled down their notes from the last presentation. Then, I began...

I rambled. At least, I thought I rambled. I looked to all the eyes the room. The kids seemed fairly interested. Mr. Red seemed out of it, he looked like he was staring off into space. Ms. Chambers had her eyes glued to my face and Ms. Petterson was quietly writing down her notes. As the presentation went on, I checked myself and chided my rushedness. "You missed a transition! That went too fast! You didn't explain!" I tried to steady myself, aa nd by the middle of the presentation, I felt ok. I thought I was a bit redundant at the end, saying I LOVE TO WRITE about million times, but there it was. I couldn't erase the words. Then I read my ending poem, and asked for any questions...

I was asked the following:

Have you ever taken any class that helped you to write?
I did have a wonderful English class during sophomore year, but that was because my teacher paid attention to my love for writing, not necessarily because of the curriculum.

You said you don't like change, but you like to be innovative. Whats the difference?
I like to be in control of the change. I am a creative person, so I like to make change, but I don't like being caught up in change I cannot control.

Et C'est Fini! (And it is finished)

We all walked out of that room, lugging our giant posters, and a sense of accomplishment (and relief). But what I heard after we left the room surprised me. Will, looking rather taken aback said "You did GREAT!"

"I did?" Perhaps this wasn't the best response, but I thought I did HORRIBLE (especially compared to my practice). I of course said that he did really well, (which he DID). I thought that God must have given me a captivated audience, because I thought I had rather stumbled and fumbled through the whole thing. We went up to the library where they were serving fluffy poison with liquid poison (cake and punch). I wanted to say hi to Laura and see how she did. She was beaming, and so proud. I was so happy for her, she worked really hard!

As I was talking, I guess Will went and told a bunch of people that my project was good, because in minute, Gage (from French) came and asked me "WHAT did you say in your project?"

I told him that I mostly just talked about writing. "Did you share any deep family issues?"
I had briefly touched on my moms illness, but I said that I mostly just talked about how I love to write. I was tired, and pleasently surprised at all of this, I mean thank heavens my listeners weren't bored or anything, but I don't think that my speech was that great (and I'm being honest). I think Jesus was sitting there, making my speech seem bright and dazzling, when really it was just him. I walked home, eating some gluten free muffins and apple sauce. When I got home, I kicked off my shoes, threw myself on the couch, and fell asleep to a Poirot. All in all, I was blessed and it was a good day because I think I passed and I got to SLEEP!

So, there's a nice, long, newsy post for ya. Probably too long and too newsy =P Sorry dears!

Audios Flamingos!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

The Day I Have Waited For Since Seventh Grade...

Oh my goodness. Tomorrow is the day I have waited for for a long time. Years. Wow. I'm too tired to fully appreciate it, but I'm excited. Yep. Tomorrow is the day I present my senior project. I'll be wearing my 50's dress (I'll take a pic) and I shall document the day for you all tomorrow. Prayers would be MOST appreciated!

Give my love to everyone... if I don't make it back ;P

AHHHHH!!!!!! SO EXCITED!!!!!!! AND SCARED!!!!!! AND TIRED... man i need to go to bed...

audios flamingos!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Photo Study 3

Some pretty pictures of late...

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