April 27, 2013

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

Lovely bloggers,
Wonderful followers,
Faithful friends (and foes!)
I have a new blog. 
This one has served me faithfully for years now, but I have felt that itchy, not-to-be-denied push to move on.
My new blog is a Wordpress,
(Don't dare call me a traitor!)
And can be found here
If you love me, continue to follow me.
If not, I still love you anyway.
This certainly isn't goodbye,
It's more of a "see-you-later!"

April 5, 2013

The One With The Candles

This is it;
One more candle in the cake,
One more digit in my age.
Today is the day I try to forget,
The day I'd rather forgo.
I'm not entirely certain when my birthday became a dreaded event, but it did, and it is. 
Somewhere between the noise, the packages wrapped in bright colours, and the smoke that lingers after you've blown the fire out
(Who decided it was a necessary celebratory tradition to light a cake on fire, anyway?)
It has turned into a day of unwanted attention and bad memories. 
Couldn't I just spend the day encased in a cocoon of peace?
Music, a book, some tea, and perhaps, if the evening is clear,
(It is April, you know)
Some time to gaze at stars through the eye of a telescope...
But these aren't on the list of traditional party games and celebratory activities, so they are to be relegated to other days, and the cake and the hugs 
(Scratch that: hugs are always welcome) 
Are my inevitable fate every April 5. 
I think what I like least about my birthday is how ridiculously young I feel.
Twenty candles in a cake and I feel about as wise as the child that has only two. 
What's the point in having lived two decades if I have learned so little? 
I dislike my birthday because I'm ashamed to have seen a little more each year, 
But have so little
-Little learned, little direction, little wit, little growth-
To show for it. 
But I was rebuked today for this mindset.
"When you deny us the chance to celebrate your birthday, you deny us the chance to celebrate your life, the fact that we know you and have you, and that is selfish..." said a friend. 
So here I am,
Posting rather begrudgingly and with an admittedly bad attitude,
Twenty years old, 
And with perhaps more to show for it than I think.
After all, I am not here to measure my life and worth in years and stubs of melting wax,
I am here to measure my life as Christ's, and I most certainly am His.
As long as this is true
(And it is an eternal truth)
I suppose I have something worth celebrating after all.

March 19, 2013

Spring Interruption

Spring break (or, as my drama prof calls it, "Spring Interruption") is upon us, and my gypsy feet
(As seen above clad in my favourite burlap Toms. Which are awesome. Just sayin')
Have taken me to Zionsville, Indiana with Wyatt ("The Tall One"), Hillary ("Radish"), and- by proxy- Ruthie ("Rutabaga").
"What does one do over Spring Break?" You might ask...
Well, the answer is obvious.
You sleep.
A lot.
And when you wake up, you check your phone and Facebook, turn over, and sleep some more.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Of course, you can't sleep all day (or at least I haven't figured out a way to do so without heavy medication stimulants), so in those short, horrific bouts of cognitive awareness that come during in-between-nap-times, you go on adventures about Downtown Zionsville.
This town has so much quaint-ish charm.
I love the colour-combinations of this building. As if red and yellow weren't already the happiest of hues, when you throw in brick, wrought-iron fences, and green-shuttered white windows, the effect is pure, visual joy.
I really wish I knew how to take good photos. Instead I take these elementary little snaps that give me headaches of frustration. Someday I shall own a nifty SLR camera and photoshop. And at some point after that, I shall posses the know-how to actually operate both. And then...and then my elementary snaps shall be slightly-better photographs. I also expect that, by the time I can afford a nice SLR camera (Canon Rebel, anyone?), I shall also have a large mansion, life-size of replicas of the Tardis and a Dalek, and a team of private genetic zoologists and scientists working on creating a real unicorn. Until then, I choose to dream.
Of course we ended up at a yarn shop.
Ruthie ("Rutabaga"), and Hillary ("Radish") lurking in the background.
And when we're not adventuring, we're making pizza...
...Having tea parties...
...practicing my lines for "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown"...
...And having thrifty adventures.
We are three-peas-in-a-pod, the bee's-knees.
Or, in this case, our knees.
And then I found this most amazing, niftiest-of-nifty mugs that has a tea bag pocket on the side.
I feel like this is a sign that my life is somehow complete (even if I didn't get that unicorn, mansion, camera, or spare-home in Europe), and I can now die in peace.
Tomorrow we're to pop off to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, and I will partake of Chipotle for the first time. I'm not entirely certain which I'm more excited about. Probably the IMA. Probably.
In the mean time, I'm off to go teach The Rutabaga how to knit socks, and then (you guessed it), more sleep.