Yesterday.

. . . Would have been 365 days. I could uphold a pretense of shock and disappointment that I did not finish. However, I am waging a war on pretension. So, I will not pretend.

I am not shocked. I do not take picture that often anyway. It was extremely ambititous-- if not all together lofty-- to think I would manage to take one a day.

I am not disappointed. I think it would be interesting to be able to look back on an entire, solid year of my life and remember at least one thing from each day. However, interest does not equate to good or fun, or even healthy. I have a very hard time letting go. I have been known to elect to live in the past instead of moving forward. These are two less than positive judgements of myself that I cannot deny validity. The fact of the matter is, I remember enough as it is. I did not need to take a picture to remember everyday because I remember the ones that count. And I remember them hard. So I am glad that I did not follow through. It might be a step in the right direction for me. This is all speculation-- retrospective speculation at that. However, I think it's pretty accurate. If I were the person I was when I started last February 12, I would have finished. I would have logged everyday.

The less existential and self-searching reason I did not finish is . . .

Come on. Obviously I lack the level of committment needed to undertake such an undertaking. 365 days? That is 1/20 of my life, which I think is a pretty hefty portion.

La lengua que me martara(accento en la "a" final).

Me encanta el idea de saber una lengua otra que ingles. Aunque, practicar es recorder que palabras no tiene la pesa misma en lenguas diferentes. Quiero encantar espanol, pero no puedo. Es dificil porque no entiendo la origen de las palabras. Por eso, me choca espanol. No tengo historia con las palabras. Es imposible encantar una lengua cuando no comprender porque una palabra es una palabra y quien habia sabido esta palabra. Este idea tiene nada en ingles, y tiene menos en espanol. En realidad, no soy cuidada bastante aprender la historia de las palabras.

Conversation hearts.

Oh, communication via candy hearts. What's not to love? I know what I love most . . . "URA TIGER." Obviously. Rawr.

Please let me have a dog.

I've never been so jealous. Nor have I ever considered stealing from a friend. I just really need a dog, you know?

I'd tap that.

I L-O-V-E PINATAS!!!!

Man, I'm Crush'n.

This is a story about how awesome I am. While in Austin, we visited Amy's Ice Cream. There is a board with a movie quotation everyday . . . if you guess what movie it is from, you get a free crush'n. Well, Friday's board read, "By the end of summer, you'll all be skinny winners." Thank you, Heavyweights. However, this cool story does not stop here. After I got it right, I got to choose the new quotation! You're welcome, Wet Hot American Summer.

Skyline, shmyline.

The Fort Worth skyline always seems so bleak to me. Where is my tall green building?

Sorry, Wednesday.

I read this and I really enjoyed it.

That's ruff.

Call it a hunch . . . this person loves dogs.

Night.

I love the smell, taste, and feel of the night air. I especially love it on night like this when it is just windy enough that your hair whips at your face. It's so spectacular that I even have a difficult time being terrified as I pause to take pictures in the overflow lot at 11:37 in the late evening.

Sixteen days.

I have sixteen more days until my committment to the Photo365 blog is over. There was an exceedingly strong showing initially. Then amidst a missing camera cord and a life hardly worth writing about, I got lazy. I did not uphold the 365 days to my fullest abilities. However, that's okay. I want to do these last sixteen days right. Sort of like a tribute to the hundred to two-hundred I neglected. Surely they were all great days-- great in the sense that they were lived. So, the next sixteen days is my apology to Photo365.

Today reminds me of how I am not good at auditioning.

Today I tried out for the Vagina Monologues . . . namely because talking about my lady parts in public is one of my favorite activities. Sadly, the world will be deprived the pleasure because it did not go well. This is actually perfectly fine (perchance better than fine). At any rate, the aforementioned audition reminded me of a hilarious anecdote from my latch-key kid childhood.

I tried out for 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' in sixth grade. My audition piece was from 'Romeo and Juliet' . . . specifically the part when Juliet finds out Romeo killed Tybalt. In a nutshell, the audition was me throwing myself on the ground, pronouncing Tybalt as 'Tie-BALLtt,' and fake crying for half of the three minutes. It might have been the most agonizing three minutes of life for everyone watching. I say everyone watching and not me because I thought I rocked it. As far as I was concerned I was the female Laurence Oliver.

The park.

I love love love love love the park. Any park will do, really . . . as long as there are swings-- because it is not a park without the swings. I especially love going to the park at midnight with some of your bestfriends and discussing everything from your most anticpated places to have sex to how you believe salvation is obtained. These conversations are even better when there is not an elevated or accusatory tone . . . not even once.

Oh, twenty.

So I thought twenty would feel exceedingly weird. I figured I would be feeling as though my childhood is over because my age no longer ends in a 'teen.' I supposed that I would freak myself out by thinking how different the world is after twenty years and hence how different I must be. This all occurred to me for about five seconds and then I got over myself and realized that it's a day. It is a marker. It is not scary. It is the person it is marking who has the potential to be scary. Fortunately, I am not . . . at least I do not think I am.