Day 77: "Some days, like rain on the door step . . ."

Day 76: Waiving the white flag.

Day 75: Displacement is hott.

Seriously. Sweltering.

Day 74: Red light!

Day 73: Rebellious as the day is long.

One of my top ten favorite spring activities . . . swinging my feet out an open window.

Day 72: "It's like I'm staring down the sun."

"And I fall down on what to say . . . oh, something clean-- let me be clever. "

Today, Third Eye Blind cures all ills.

Day 71: Rain makes everything shadows.

Day 70: These documents are classified.

Day 69: ExtRAwesome? LOLZ

This is my RA survival kit. It all it takes is Red Bull and plastic tiaras then I have this one in the bag.

Day 68: Music box.

Day 67: Slack.

I didn't take a picture all Friday.

Oops.

Day 66: Good morning, sunshine.

I absolutely love waking up to sunshine spilled across my bed.

Day 65: The last place you look.

So this is from my [g]ournal nine months ago. I wrote it a day before an event that changed the way I live and perceive life forever. What I wrote is not anything special. The importance of this entry is that it provides a point of reference. I can always look back on this page and remember how different, petty, beautiful, and frustrating life has the potential to be. It is my prayer for anyone affected by the recent tragedy that they may have a point of reference-- a way to remember what life was before.

Day 64: My mom is cute.

My mother made me this soap. It is shaped like a rose and smells like lavendar. It's supposed to be calming.

I think it's a little perplexing.

Day 63: Oh, Bass.

Of course I enjoy this picture because it reminds me of Harry Potter.

Day 62: And my computer is filthy.

This is my angry play list. It is forty minutes of complete distaste. Then I feel better?

Day 61: Oh, LOLZ.

I enjoy my friends.

Day 60: Those May flowers better make one fine impression.

Day 59: When the living room was on the lawn.

Essentially, this picture means I was reading barefoot in the grass. <33

Day 58: I prefer lined paper.

I hate writing on the computer, and I am dreading the day I lose my journals.

Day 57: Long showers <33

Day 56: Monday, really?

Some days are so good they deserve a thank you note.

Day 55: Wood is misunderstood.

Wood is often used in metaphor for its lack of comfort and vitality. I wanted to set the record straight. In few places do I feel more comfortable or alive than in the pews on Easter Sunday.

Day 54: Well, come home.

I opened the door of the room next to the garage with every intention of curling up in my chair and reading one of my books from my shelf, while listening to my fan whirl above my head. However, I apparently mistook the new storage closet for my bedroom. I jokingly mentioned this to my father, who replied, "It gets more practical use this way."



. . . to which I, slightly amused, realize I'm a little homeless.

Day 53: Good Friday.

While it's not a good picture, it was an amazing service.

Day 52: We're working on West Coast time in honor of Katy Echols.

Technically this is day 53 our time, but we'll discount that.

Day 51: "I thought I had your bone structure."

My grandma taught me how to blow bubbles. No one could dissect a sentence with more precision or sing off key with more grace. She was sensational and atypical. She spoiled me by reading Bible stories and giving impromptu grammar lessons. And on occassion, she would pull out a box of barren thread spools, fill her bathtub with soapy water, and we would blow bubbles until the bathroom was soaked.

Day 50: Good-bye sunshine?

Day 49: Waiting room syndrome.

Worry hinted with sleepy eyes and hands produces woven handicrafts.

Day 48: Chaos is the most stable state.

I purged my room of its many messes. Still, the only element of my space that resembles order is my movie collection . . . my pitiful, small movie collection.