October

I love crisp air. Cold and crisp. Not wet, not humid, but like invisible ice. 

It wakes up the brain.

I love sunlight on leaves. Through leaves, highlighting leaves,doesn't matter just sunlight and leaves. Together. 

I love gray. I bought a new jacket this weekend. It is gray. It was blissfully cold enough to wear it today. 

It is basically made of felt, it has buttons, a hood, and a collar. I love it. It looks nice, but medium nice. Not formal, but pretty.

The next thing on my list of material items to obtain is a nice pair of boots. Leathery, black mid-calf, flat or low stable heel. Pretty, but practical. Rain proof, and walkable, but attractive. 

I love walking in neighborhoods. 

My boyfriend and I have gone on two walks in our neighborhood. Commenting on houses, holding hands, and being outside in the fading evening light. Not dusk, but not direct sunlight either. Yesterday he found a pile of free things, and I got a beautiful orange crate out of the deal. 

I also love decorating our house [my roommates and my's house. I live with three other girls, just to clarify ;) ]. This weekend i had some time so I put up another string of pictures and popped some keys in a picture frame and hid it on one of the basement study/craft room's windowsills. I love creative time. Making dekorations time. Art time. 

Perhaps that is why i am perpetually altering my wardrobe. Getting dressed is kind of like art. putting the patterns and colors together. Deciding on my style for the day. Trying to find satisfaction in how it looks, and all the practical variables of comfort. 

A principle of mine is that a true artist can make art out of anything. Don't have canvas? Substitute cardboard. Things like that. A true artist can take whatever materials that are at hand and create with them. That is what i try to do. Found object art, at least in piece. And it is some of the most satisfying. 

However, it does not always look "professional". And some how looking professional has come to matter to me as well. It is to be handmade, but not look homemade. The difference is vital.

Handmade is craftsman ship and skill, homemade is makeshift and lesser quality (we are not talking about baked goods here).

A while ago I assigned myself an hour of writing time every week. This is the first week I've taken it. I am glad that i did. It was not very beautiful, but I decided to share it with you anyways. Because blgs have been requested, and perhaps the pictures will redeem the words. 

Pictures and Quotes

Its been much too long. Everything is going pretty well in my world. Summer is drawing to a close and I'm content to wait a couple weeks to get back to my world, but it will be really nice when I get there.

 

 I've got a thing for sailboats.

"It's the things you fight for and struggle with before earning that have the greatest worth. When something's difficult to come by, you'll do that much more to make sure it's even harder -if not impossible- to loose." ~ Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen 

[I also read This Lullaby by her both were very good and deeper than expected]

  

"It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up on in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be" ~Coraline by Niel Gaiman

 

I'm not sure what daisies wont tell but I saw this cushion at an antique store and it intrigued me.  Any idea on what secrets daisies have?

  

I found my first Nerdfighter note recently. I was happy. It was in a copy of Paper Towns at a used bookstore. I did replace it so whoever bought the book still got a note.

I pre-ordered John Green's next book The Fault In Our Starts, I'm excited it got pushed up to January.

I'm 20 years old (no its no where near my birthday). 

I've liked odd numbered ages better for a while now. 

I loved being 19. I was just old enough, but still young enough to be a little irresponsible.

I realize that I am young, but 20 feels so much heavier.

I'll never have "teen" in my age ever again.

Good bye childhood.

Adulthood, I'm glad I've come to terms with you, 

but we're not friends yet.

Just a few tainted thoughts to share.

What's your summer like?

I'm relaxing in a hammock. with a blanket for the wind.
Painted my nails this morning, and they're already a little dented.
Dog cruled up nicely on the grass next to me.
Looking up at the sunlight through the leaves, but perfectly shaded.
Pandora is playing.

This is one facet of a perfect summer day.

I feel like I could fade into the wind.
Not even my sunburn could keep me tethered.
Why did we build indoors?
How do we get stuck there?
Its not where we belong.

Well. Maybe if its raining.

Moonlit Flowers

Here is a little more from Celia Land. Such a work in progress, but this is one of my very favorite bits.

The pic isn't much, but its all I had for night time.

It was Saturday. She was painting. Not directly on the walls, but on some cardboard she had tacked up. It was a nightscape, planets and stars and every thing in dark, moonlit shades. The flowers that grew by the moonlight were the most stunning. They represented her soul. As she understood it. All the nights she had the later shift, and came home and went outside to stare at the stars. Sometimes she waited and the clouds never gave her a hole. Sometimes she fell asleep and woke, freezing, to the most beautiful sights. Constellations she had memorized, slowing moving across the sky to positions she’d never before witnessed due to the stupid sleeping schedule inflicted on her by others.

            Those nights her soul was the flowers, beautiful and dim. No longer stunning and resplendent as they had been in the day. This night had been going on about two years now, and she didn’t see the sun begging to rise anytime soon. For the flowers in the painting, they would never see day, perhaps they never had. Her soul felt the same, it vaguely remembered the times before, when her hair was light and she had danced through her house, driving Amanda crazy. But now things were different.

Welcome to Summer

I redecorated for you. Now what to say.
As always I have been terribly unfaithful.
Even now I have no idea what to say. 
So many choices, story, poem, random stuff about my life.
Or I could go dig up something I've already written. Yep, I pick that one.

This is from my NaNoWriMo attempt in November:

She sat in the center of the shop against the wall and sipped the warm sugar and caffeine slowly. She watched as people flowed in and out irregularly. People are not like the tides, they do not march to a regular beat, but their different rhythms swirl around each other beautifully. Celia sat sometimes with her eyes closed, sometimes with her brain miles away. 

 

A Half Truth

The air is relentless in its moving

In it’s rushing by

Can you see why we’re cold?

Because we never stop

When you run out of breath

When you are forced to stop.

When I hurt too much to run

That is when we’re warm.

The air stops swirling around

And for a moment

All is calm

There is no fear

Only warmth.

Then the wind remembers

The breeze continues on its pilgrimage to find what can’t be found by going

And you move

And I move

We are gone

Swallowed perpetually by the cold

Two “I”s

Separated by this blizzard without snow

But no one would ever know

No one would ever know.

--

     I wrote this back in February, found it today, and thought it was worth a post, especially as I am so unfaithful to you all.

Dreams are my enemies. 

        They remind me what reality lacks.

                  In them I live what I cannot hope for.

     Makes it harder to try to adjust.

Even though 

...I know...

You were right.

When endings are not endings

But merely states of change

The ice falls into my brain

Slowing shutting me down

I fight to move

I fight to live

I would rather give up

But then 

Its not just me that's here

I have to talk

I have to move
Not for my benefit, but yours

Quickly the ice is in reverse

Back from whence it came

I talk I move I breathe

In this moment
I live for you

Growing Up

I think it is just the weirdest thing.
We start off small only to get big and create more small ones.
Why do we do both, why not just one or the other. Always big or always little. I suppose somewhere in the middle would be best.

I try to see in sepia
No colors, only tones of golden filmy brown
I deny colors
And pretend that every thing is simple
How do I remember the goal is the process
Never complete
Never achieved
Yet not trying is unrepentant failure.
But still I want what I cannot have
I cannot have it, for it doesn't exist

I guess my focus is off.

A few months Post, no Haste

Well. Apologies for leaving. But that is why I will never have an A list blog, I'm not 100% committed, I haven't had much to say,

'twas busy with school, and then, well, then I had nothing to say.

But I feel like I should say something now. 

Once there was a girl, she lived in a castle. She had everything she ever dreamed of, because she was loved. When she grew a bit older the castle crumbled, and she grew up in the gap between her old world and one with far less to offer, and far fewer resources. She was cut off from most of the people that loved her, some fought for her, some loved from a distance.

She learned to keep everything to herself. She didn't understand what needed to be shared and why. But she still didn't lack for the important things, even if the rent was always late.

And eventually this girl became a young woman, and she was able to see more than the walls and crumbs around her. She still didn't know how to handle every situation, but she could see more clearly.

She left her little world, but really she only joined in a second one. Doubling her portion. 

This time she was the one building the world, striving to remember that was what she was doing. 

Life is such an important thing, often she was scared of living it. But that is the worst way to do it wrong. 

So she tries.

True story. Do with it what you will. Its not much. Completely unedited.