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.