Truth

Truth strikes like a ton of bricks; lies make my neck hurt.

"All day long I feel created. I can see the blown dust on the skin on the back of my hand, the tiny trapezoids of chipped clay, moistened and breathed alive."

-Annie Dillard

Completely Misconstrued

I have so much on my mind! There have been so many beautiful days recently, summer's tempting me to play in the grass every day instead of writing my term paper and things. It does NOT help that Wilco just put out another fantastic album that reeks of summer evenings. Unfortunately, Petrarch and I have had a standing ten-hour date that is currently in session. Yeah, I'm cheating on my term paper with my blog. The writing process has been killing me for this paper. Graduation in a few weeks! I'm not questioning my future or even really looking forward to it. I just want SUMMER. I got to take prom photographs of a friend the other day. It was fun. I pretended like I knew what I was doing and snap snap snap'd. They turned out alright. I need more practice, for sure. That's what summer will be for, hopefully. That brings me to my next topic: what does summer consist of? (an effort to motivate me to finish school so I can participate in said summer activities ASAP)

summer: park days, baking in the sun, breezes, books, tank tops, photosesh's, spending time with those whom I love, swimming, dipping my toes in the ocean, long drives, adventures to where ever, playing with little ones everyday, stompers and toms, ugly yellow shirts, very little necessary clothing, no assignments, sleeping, snuggling...

Frustrated

Ventilation is all I need. I've been dying to study English in college since my freshman year. I don't think that's my dream anymore. I can write sufficiently, but I think I need something besides a mode of expression to be my focus for the next four years. If I'm given something I love to write about, I will eagerly plot my thoughts and expound, but give me Petrarch and all I've got are simple subject/verb agreements on his twisted ways. I feel like it isn't fair to my brain or my soul to leave other academic waters uncharted. Maybe I'll return to my first love, but I may never speak of words again.