Sunday, October 28, 2012

Santa Fe

Let me go
Far away
Somewhere they won't ever find me
And tomorrow won't remind me of today
And the city's finally sleeping
And the moon looks old a grey
I get on a train that's bound for Santa Fe
And I'm gone
And I'm done
No more running, no more lying
No more fat old men denying me my pay
Just a moon so big and yellow it turns night right into day
Dreams come true
Yeah they do
In Santa Fe

What's your Santa Fe?
For Jack Kelly, a down-on-his-luck Newsy in New York City under Pulitzer (yes, that Pulitzer), Santa Fe was a dream. Between avoiding the law, lying, stealing, and basically being a liar, homeless, and basically broke, now Pulitzer is cutting their pay, leaving all of the Newsies cut off and out on the streets unable to pay for rent, and his best friend, the crip appropriately nicknamed 'Crutchie' kidnapped, off in a child's prison that Jack spent some time in years ago, Santa Fe is calling Jack more than ever.

This is from one of my favourite musicals: Newsies! But the Broadway version, not the movie with Christian Bale (as brilliant as that was, Christian Bale does not sing well). Jeremy Jordan sings this one, and oh my word, I get goosebumps every time.

AHHH goosebumps.... I know I've posted about Newsies before, but this is... this is just freaking brilliant.

Anyhoo. What's your guys' Santa Fe? What's your dream city?


Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?

I definitely went to go see Wicked: The Broadway Musical on Friday.
Second row seats.
It was so amazing.

If you can, go see it.
Television/Youtube does not do it justice.

Friday, October 26, 2012


It's too late for me to be up, but this essay is killing me. I've been agonizing over it for the last three hours and I only have 500 words on the page, three and a half roughly written paragraphs. It's annoying me. Mind, I have had some distractions: necessary conversations, food, and teateatea and more tea. Music has been my guide, Skittles have kept me awake, and good friends have kept me (mostly) sane. I'm set up in front of a warm fireplace, I have a beautifully planned but roughly written essay in front of me, and a warm puppy asleep on my toes.
Can it get better than this?
Hard to beat when joy is holding your hand.

Joy is something I can find at 12:30 am.
Joy is something that is warm.
Joy is something that never actually leaves.
Joy is someone you love.
Joy is something that makes you happy.
Joy is my 12:31am blog post.

What is joy to you?

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Essay mood.

I'm writing an essay.
It's an awful essay.
But it reminded me of one I wrote last year that I lovelovelove.
Mind if I share?

Anais Nin once said, “The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.” This is the definition of an author, of any creator, really.  The only way that authors can achieve this is by the way he or she formulates and uses their language, using metaphors and similes along with other literary devices, to shape the story and bring the words to life. Ray Bradbury, the author of Fahrenheit 451, does this well, by using rich language, filled with metaphors and similes which adds an artistic depth to the writing and makes the characters seem alive and more relatable.

The language at the beginning of the story is crucial to formulate the feelings, thoughts and struggles of the main characters as they confront people, problems and thoughts they never would have encountered or considered—along with situations they’ve only experienced in the worst of nightmares. As Bradbury builds his creation, we meet the character Clarisse, who confronts Montag with her up-front, blunt way of speaking, and as he later reflects on his feelings, thinking, “How rarely did other people’s faces take of you and throw you back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?” (11). It’s obvious that, by the way Montag is thinking and what he is feeling, he is struggling with the very thought of thought, the feeling of feeling, of the depth and realness Clarisse brought to life as he saw her, and as she really saw him. Their society has forced them into a mindset which keeps them from really thinking, really seeing and really feeling, so that when an oddity like Clarisse comes along who has blatantly refused to act like they want her to and thinks for herself, it’s an eye-opener for Montag, that people can function independently. And just as Montag transfers into his normal life just to confront his wife, unconscious from an overdose of pills, he is faced with a situation he never wanted to encounter, and his world shatters; “He felt that the stars had been pulverised by the sound of the black jets and that in the morning the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow. That was his idiot thought as he stood shivering in the dark, and let his lips go on moving and moving.” (14). The way Bradbury weaves his language here with a very metaphorical feeling, a very dark overlay, it brings Montag’s feelings to hit the reader straight at their heart, to feel the empty, black feeling Montag is struggling with, the inability to properly function or think (“…that was his idiot thought…and let his lips go on moving and moving…”) . The deep, dark emptiness Montag is feeling has been developed and developed to the point where the author implies—through metaphors— that Montag’s life will change and he will never view the world in the exact same way again— “…that the earth would be covered with their dust like a strange snow.” Bradbury’s wording and choice of metaphors, similes, and verbiage is so brilliantly written it strikes to the heart and into the mind of the feelings and situations the protagonist is thrown into, and it carries through the book with his wonderful similes and metaphors to shape the lives, viewpoints, and feelings of the characters.

 The way the language is crafted is very much based around metaphors and similes that shape the characters, the setting, and make it come to life in a unique and spectacular way that Ray Bradbury has mastered.  The metaphors are strong in this quote, as the author forms the image of Montag viewing his unconscious wife after she overdosed on sleeping pills; “Her face was like a snow-covered island upon which rain might fall, but it felt no rain; over which clouds might pass their moving shadows, but she felt no shadow....her eyes all glass, and breath going in and out, softly, faintly, in and out her nostrils, and her not caring whether it came or went, went or came.” (13). Other than being very descriptive and visual, he uses unique similes and metaphors, for example: “Her face was like a snow-covered island…” as simile for the blank, pale expression on her face, and “…her eyes all glass…” as a metaphor for the blank look in her eyes. This really adds to the depth of the writing and allows the reader to better visualise Mildred on her bed. Earlier, when Montag meets Clarisse, the narration, from Montag’s mind, reads as follows: “He saw himself in [Clarisse’s] eyes, suspended in two sining drops of bright water, himself dark and tiny, in fine detail…as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber that might capture and hold him intact. Her face, turned to him now, was fragile milk crystal with a soft and constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity but—what? But the strangely comfortable and rare and gently flattering light of the candle…” (7). The similes in this are strong, especially, “…as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber…”. The personification is very visual here, “It was not the hysterical light of electricity…”; light is not hysterical, people are. Usages of literary terms, personification, metaphors and similes, are all utilised here to emphasise the writing, and shape the character’s thoughts and actions.

Ray Bradbury uses his figures of speech to make the catastrophes seem more realistic and to make them seem more than just words on a page. When Montag is struck by the fact that he might lose his wife after he sees that she has overdosed on her pills, the reader experiences the following maelstrom of Guy’s feelings: “As he stood there, the sky over the house screamed. There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam. Montag was cut in half. He felt his chest chopped down and split apart. The jet bombers going over, going over, going over, one two, one two, one two, six of them, nine of them, twelve of them, one and one and one and another and another and another, did all the screaming for him. He opened his own mouth and let their shriek come down and out between his bared teeth.” (13-14). The repetition of words—“…going over, going over, going over, one two, one two, one two…”, —and the visuals and personifications utilised here— “..The sky over the house screamed. There was a tremendous ripping sound as if two giant hands had torn ten thousand miles of black lines down the seam…”—allow the reader to connect with Montag and have an idea of what he is thinking, to get a piece of Montag’s mind; one of the things the author does well is to put how the human brain functions as panic and havoc set in, how it slows and just repeats the words or the scene of what just happened over and over, as if that will set in the reality of what really happened. Far later in the book, Montag, along with the , are faced with a far more serious ruination, watching their city being bombed: “The concussion knocked the air across and down the river, turned the men over like dominos in a line, blew the water in lifting sprays, and blew the dust and made the trees above them mourn with a great wind… and in that instant [Montag] saw the city, instead of the bombs, in the air. They had displaced each other. For another of those impossible instants the city stood, rebuilt and unrecognisable, taller than it had ever hoped or strived to be, taller than man had built it, erected at last in grouts of shattered concrete and sparkles of torn metal into a mural hung like a reversed avalanche, a million colours, a million oddities, a door where a window should be, a top for a bottom, a side for a back, and then the city rolled over and fell down dead…The sound of it’s death came after.” (160) The personification in this section is prominent, “The sound of [the city’s] death…” or “… and made the trees above them mourn with a great wind…” and they all bring this passage to life. Not just does the personification show that it was not just the people affected, but nature too, the displacing of the river the bending (or ‘mourning’) of the trees, and the city’s displacement, in that one frozen moment in havoc when everything stands still and stands out in perfect detail, and every moment is etched into the brain, the “impossible instants,” as the narration puts it. And thus is the personification and similes shown in vivid detail in the scintillating horrors of Fahrenheit 451 and the brilliant writing of Ray Bradbury.

If anything, writing is an art. It is a gift that some people use well, but some people do not. Ray Bradbury, author of Fahrenheit 451, utilises in such an artistic way, it brings thoughts to the reader’s mind, metaphors and similes to definition, and vivify catastrophes, feelings and situations. Creators have done this with their own mediums, if it is film, writing, or drawings. It’s evident in movies, can be read in books, and viewed in paintings. It’s done in the most wonderful way in Fahrenheit 451, with the words forming the story in the reader’s mind and bringing the words on the page to tangibility, to a realness that few authors can equal. It is a fantastic story, a wondrous tale, brought to life through words, and the language Ray Bradbury uses, that shapes the characters, their feelings, thoughts and situations, and makes the story both thought-provoking and believable. 

Hope you guys enjoyed!! Have a great night and good luck to my sophomores on their LotF essay! :-*

Wednesday, October 24, 2012


There are some things I really really respect, and want when I decide to date. If I ever date.
I want him to treat me like a princess, not an object to be used.
I want him to love me for who I am, not for who I was.
I want him to see me for who I really am, not a flesh-and-blood person.
I want him to love God for his grace and mercy, not just as a 'religion'.
I want him to love my parents for who they are, not just as 'my girlfriend's parents'.
I want him to put God as their priority, not me or themselves, because God should always be first.
I want him to honour our country and respect it, not just because they live in it.
I want him to be kind, not just superficially but honestly, deep down inside.
I want him to be truthful, not to hide anything from me.
I want him to be genuine, not to put on facades to make me happy.
I want him to be funny, not just to make me laugh, but to lighten my days.
I want him to be a gentleman, not just a man or a boy.
I want him to have integrity, and have me be his one and only girl.

I want him to give me his jacket when I'm cold.
I want him to open the door for me.
I want him to do silly things with me.

I don't want him to be a liar.
I don't want him to be a cheater.

Now these are high stakes. But I know that if I lower my standards, no good can or will come from it. So I'll set my standards high, and hope that in time, if the right man comes along, I will know, and God will make it clear who it is, and when (if) I'm ready.

Anyway. Just some thoughts been bouncing around in my little head lately. I am happy single and will be for a long while now. :)
Oh, this page has had over 1000 page views so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU loyal fans one and all :D 

Anyway, OUT

Sunday, October 21, 2012


I have wonderful friends, you know that?
I turned 16 this week, right? So I'm getting awesome people together tonight. We're gonna take pictures and eat fondue until we're sick.
And then go to school tomorrow.
So thanks for the people who are going to show up.
Ahead of time. :D

I should probably like. Get ready.
LATER, folks!

Friday, October 19, 2012


I'm insane. I don't have anything to write about, and that's sad.
So sorry for the lack of subject. But I gots nothin'.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012



Today is my birthday! I'm sixteen! WHAT.

Today was fantastic. From cake to balloons in my locker to swing dancing lessons and roses, it was a glorious, glorious day. Today just happened to be the one day this week where it was warm and sunny and beautiful, and I was able to steep myself in wonderful friendship in an otherwise boring day. Despite testing in the morning (dull) and a boorish english period (also dull), the times in between were fun, and filled with laughter and pure blessings.

Oh, and I'm going to go see "Wicked".
So, be jealous.

(Thanks to Abi, Zacraigory my bro, Janelle, Josiah, Mackenzie, Keiko, Abbie, Jennifer and everyone else who posted on my facebook wall for making my birthday wonderful!)

Homecoming roses! Thanks Joe :D

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

I'm the King of New York.

I'm a sucker for musicals.
One of my favourites is Newsies (*cough*Jennifer*cough*). I've seen it oh... a dozen times? It's so good. The original movie stars Christian Bale and, while he isn't the best singer, he sure is fantastic at acting.
Recently, they've created a Broadway musical that looks SO GOOD. If you watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade last year, you probably saw them perform "King of New York", one of their hits. (See, it's right down there!!) ^.^

The girl in the middle at one point sings, "So let's get drunk!" The rest of the boys hollah in agreement, but she follows it up with, "Not with liquor, fame works quicker, when you're king of New York!"

While it's amusing, it brings a poignant truth to mind that's all to apparent in the whole movie with Pulitzer, and that other newspaper guy Pulitzer is going against. Their fame has lead them to be drunk.
With power.

It's an interesting thought to keep in mind, something poignant to understand. There are times when we get power: be it a good grade, a compliment, or whatever, the power goes to your head. And you get drunk with the power.

Just keep that in mind ;)
Totes guilty.


thirteen ways of looking at fire
by me

Coals glow red
Reflecting on the sweat of the captive’s
The captive who is very
And facing his last

We throw handfuls of sawdust on the fire.
Watch them ignite.
A cloud like a mushroom in miniature.
And heat washes our faces.

A man, standing. 
Smoke trailing from his burning cigarette.
As a fight rages on inside.
A fight he is too frightened to face.

Standing at the grave
A family
By the loss
Of one in the fire.

The girls curl up in their sleeping bags 
Around the dying fire
And as they sleep,
The fire dies
And the silence is comforting.

The fire crushes
The small town
Like a wave
Overcomes the shore

charred ruins 
a young couple 
over their 

An embrace.
From shocked husband 
to teary wife.
From enraged fire 
to unsuspecting wood.

Eating up the forests
Consuming trees as
A murmur spreads
Through a crowd
Of frightened

Dread fills her stomach
Smoke lines the sky
There is danger ahead
She is sure

The soldier looks over the valley
He has decimated 
With fire
And he is called 
And the people
Out of fear
Have run

Holding the punk up to the sparkler
Mesmerised by the colours
As it slowly burns towards your innocent fingers
Threatening to spark them alight

It leaps into the air
Casting its orangey fingers about for the right grasp
It lives.

Monday, October 15, 2012


I'm a klutz. I always have been, really. Tonight, I was sitting at Red Robin with my dad, minding my own business (meaning shaking the almost-empty catsup bottle to get the last bit out for my fries) when I knocked my tray and dropped a chicken tender on the floor.
Needless to say, both my dad and I just cracked up, and a really nice waiter came over and picked it up and said, "Here, I'll remake this for you," and came back five minutes later with a freshly made chicken finger.

It was a bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.
The rain that makes my city infamous has returned, and as much as I love it, being stuck outside in 40 degree weather for an hour or so while your dad is stuck in traffic will make your toes numb and dampen your spirits. Literally and figuratively. And some stuff at school wasn't going too well. I was frustrated and sick all day, angry at people and schoolwork, but a nice warm dinner with my dad that was made better by my klutziness really topped it off well.

And now I just want to curl up in front of a fire with a good book.
Oh wait, I am!

Now to see if I can sleep tonight... O_O

I know the feel, bro.

"And I know you're my friends
And I know it's the end
And I know it's the end, yeah.
So twinkle, lightly
Please twinkle, lighty
And I offer you my wings
and I'm offering
all of me.
And then you fly away with all your sins
and then all of your friends
and then all of your friends...
So please twinkle, lightly
Please twinkle lightly"
~Twinkle Lightly by Talain Rayne

For some strange reason, I'm obsessed with this song.
Don't ask me why, I just am.

There are strange things going on in my life today. I'm gaining and losing so much all at once. It's hard to bear, hard to take in, hard to handle. It's impossible.

But I know I can make it.

I know hope seems futile sometimes, like smoke.
But it's far more tangible than lots of us give it credit for. It's always there, we just need to look for it. And once we start searching, it becomes as clear as the nose in front of your face.
Or that door I just broke my finger on. (ow)

So there's my stupid hopes for today. I just hope the hopeless hopes will give my hopeless day hope.

So twinkle, lightly.

Sunday, October 14, 2012


My youth pastor once said that if you have a pulse, God has a plan.
In other words, you're breathing, you're here for a reason.

This is a ring I have. I found it randomly (don't ask...).

It looks like a pulse, like a heartbeat. I have a pulse, right? I have a reason to be here. I have a plan set out for me, for my life.

That should bring comfort. And it does.

I've been struggling with purpose.
Kind of trying to understand why I'm put in places or through specific trials. I know it's for a reason. But why? Why me?

I know I have a purpose. We all do.  God loves us all, and we are put through these situations for a reason, a purpose.
The reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists

So what's our purpose? What does God want us to take away from what we did today?
I dare you to go out tomorrow and find God's purpose for Monday, October 15th 2012. Because there'll be one there.
I'll take that dare.
Will you?


NaNo has been a topic I've been more than eager to avoid these last few months. Last year's NaNo for me was a flop, and I've been hesitant to plan out a novel because of my busy days and that I've found a ne, different approach to writing that wouldn't fold out well in a novel.
Because, last time I checked, poetry is hard to make a 50 thousand word story out of.

But here I am, typing out a synopsis for an Alice in Wonderland or, Alice in Dystopia. It's an interesting concept I've been humouring for awhile- what would be different if Alice lived in a different time, a different place? What if she was different altogether?
Out of this came Suri Robwyn- my Alice in Dystopia.

It’s 3997, and it’s time for Suri Robwyn to turn her life around. In the broken down dystopia she lives in, jobs for seventeen year old girls are scarce and hard to find— doubly as tough for Suri. She’s chronically ill, and though her seizures are starting to become less and less frequent, no one will hire her. But with a new millenium approaching and technology skyrocketing, she knows that some day there will be an affordable solution for her problem.
But when the application form for the Stede Messenger Institute for Boys and Girls shows up, she sees a new way to get out of the shabby hotel she works in, and a whole new way to see the city: to become a messenger. 
But this is harder than she realises, and before long, she’ll discover even more dangers with the menacing Red Queen, the shady, insane Hatter, and the mysterious disappearing cat from Cheshire. 

So? Your thoughts? It need a lot more research, a lot more thought, and some serious cyborg planning, but otherwise, I think it'll be great.
And if I don't finish it in November, I'll finish it later on :)

Saturday, October 13, 2012


Today, I am in misery. (Did anyone else get the Maroon 5 song stuck in their heads? Just me? Okay then. Awk.)
Well, I'm not really.

But fall has fell.
And that means two things:
Sick season
My birthday

Both of which are imminent. A nasty cold has hit me hard today. My dad was sweet enough to go get me some DayQuil to survive the work day (thanks daddy!!) and a little tea will do wonders. My head is stuffy though, and my nose is running like crazy :P

And my birthday is on Wednesday.
 So yeah :D

Friday, October 12, 2012


"He gives strength to the weary and increases power to the weak...those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40: 29, 31

This was my lifeline today.

Today, I got sick. Really sick. 
As in, blood-sugar-crashing-shaking-so-hard-I-can't-write-I'm-going-to-pass-out sick. It was bad. 
It's only happened to me a few times before, and never this awfully. It was frightening. 


Remember my 'Crabby' post? And how we all need that 'Schroeder' person to kick our butts? When we're in moods, we need that one Bible verse to kick our butts back. And that verse was my strengthening. Not really a kick in the butt, but more like a, 'let me take your hand and pull you back up again', verse. 

And it was wonderful.

And I survived.

So from now on, I'm not going to run on 2 hours of sleep and 12 hours of no food (because I didn't have a big dinner, was up late, and didn't have breakfast this morning. Because I'm smart) and that was bad.

You don't do it either, okay?


Everything's gonna be okay.

Oh yeah, and working on a new short story. I'll post it up here soon, k? :-)

Thursday, October 11, 2012


"You may have nerves of steel, but you do not know the breadth of this world."
~President Bradley, FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Episode 2

This would be truth.
Lots of people are brave on the outside. They can show off and flaunt and brag. But no matter what they say or do... they will never know the 'breadth of this world'. They never know what's going to happen next. No one does. The breadth of this world is unmeasurable. No one knows it excepting God. And I think we all have to deal with that.

This is from one of my favourite books ever, The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak. A shocking, brilliantly written novel about the Holocaust told from the perspective of what we fear most and what is most prominent in those dark days: Death himself.  'Such gallantry' can get us into all sorts of fixes. It's the old, "Pride comes before the fall," situation that shows itself in such tangible ways.

All done here. :D
Night y'all!!

Stiff upper lip and all that, wot?

When I was younger, I would read. Well, that's kind of all I do anyway, but practically the only books that I would read were the Redwall series by the now deceased Brian Jaques. I've read (and own) practically every book in the series.
Because that's what I do.
Read like insanity.
I think there are nigh on twenty books published, and I still take them out from time to time to read. They're fun and nostalgic and enjoyable. They make me smile when I'm feeling down, and bring back all sorts of memories. I can pick up Rakkety Tam and still sing all the songs from the audiobook. I can remember the nightmares Loamhedge gave me the first time, then the happiness the end brought. Those books are the echoes of a childhood well loved, like a book well read and worn through, the cracked glue binding, dog-eared pages, the smell of must and childhood and ink on paper.

When I read these books, I was anywhere from third to seventh grade. My homeschooling years, and the first few years at the school I currently attend. I read those books for the reason why most people (and I say most people, not all), pick up books to read.
To lose themselves in another fantasy.
But I did that too much, too often, and when real life smacked me in the face, it hurt more, because I had put my heart and soul into that little abbey in Mossflower, the talking mice and otters and moles and hares, fearlessly fighting ferocious terrors like ferrets and weasels and rats and foxes.

You see? I was finding happiness in the wrong place. I was setting it on something unreliable, something temporary. And when your happiness relies on something unreliable for so long and it crumbles, and it isn't there... well, frankly, you're screwed. Your heart will break, there will be pain, there will be tears and suddenly your life is a living hell.
No one wants that.
That's why there's only one thing that is reliable.
My God and Saviour. And there's no way I'm letting him go.


This is for you.
This is Baylee.

She's my dog. We got her last year in September, and she's just about a year old now. She's awesome.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Late nights and Funnies

"GR. lsdjfoaiwhefnldfgj"
"Oh, I use that word all the time!!"
"Yeah, ikr?! So great."
"Mhm. But seriously, what?"

I swear. I have some of the best friends ever.

We travel together, we make memories together. I kind of wish some of those times would come back to relive them.

These are from our dance last December. It kind of sucked. But the memories I took away from it were awesome.

The group I went with. Like, all of my friends.

We decided to link arms instead of hold hands. Because there were guys and it would be totes awk to hold hands. Obvi.

So yeah. I've had some great late night chats with some people, especially lately. (You know who you are. If you do, you're awesome. You people frequent this blog.)
One of which (not really 'late night') was the convo above. (Yeah you. You're awesome.) They go from anywhere from deep deep to me falling off the chair I'm laughing so hard.  

So yeah. You guys rock. All of you.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


As you (hopefully) know, I was in San Francisco this last week, Thursday through yesterday evening. 
It was fun! Really fun :D
So here's some pics.

SKYLINE. I love skylines. And San Francisco has a gorgeous one! That's the bay bridge on the right and I think Alcatraz is in there somewhere but... hm... I don't think so. Yeah. Not in there. This picture was taken from Sausalito. Which I thought was an island, because you take a ferry there, but apparently not. It's off of a peninsula. 

Me and my friend. We got these legit sunglasses. Be jelly.

The hotel we stayed at. It doesn't look like much, eh? But it is so much more! It was hipster-y and art-deco-y and like. Epic. Yup. And they have awesome fire escapes so. #winning

A sunset. Right behind us was Ghirardelli Square. We didn't actually go to the square, but whatever. We were waiting for a cable car to take us back to the hotel. 

It was fun, but I'm glad to be home. I like being home. Being gone is fun, but honestly, there's nothing nicer than getting home. And I'm glad I'm back.

When I fly on planes, which is ridiculously often, my favourite part is the arrival, landing, especially if it's a nighttime flight or a flight at dusk, because the sunsets are SO PRETTY :D 

That one's from Texas, not an aeroplane. But it's just as pretty. 

Anyhoo. Sorry for the lag. See y'all later!!

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Roadwork and Lazy

So I've been lazy.
More like busy, but yeah. I've been lazy. I haven't posted in like. A week. I'm really sorry. And I'm too lazy to post something legit like a word for the day here but instead I'll just post a thought.

I went to Seattle yesterday on a field trip to the zoo. Would you believe the amount of roadwork going on?! It's ridiculous. 
There's an old joke that there are four seasons in western Washington. Almost rainy, rainy, still rainy, and road construction. Though there is always road construction going on in Washington. Roads torn up, traffic, traffic, traffic.

If you think about it, we're kind of like roads. We go somewhere. We start somewhere and end somewhere. And we're always under construction. God is always working on us. He puts up the 'Road Work Ahead' sign, and we see it coming. It's inevitable. We can't stop it. And we struggle through the rough pavement, pieces of us being torn up and torn out and replaced.
We don't like it. Gosh, it hurts like hell. (Pardon the expression). But when it's all over, you look back on the nice smooth pavement, the wide roadway, and you know that it was worth it somehow. And you survived. Surviving is nice.

I'm off to San Francisco on Thursday. Wish me luck!!