I'm thinking...

I've often thought how hard it is to write down what you are thinking. It's almost nigh impossible. Thoughts are fickle things, you see. At the present moment I am thinking of half a dozen things, and yet I can only write on one. In the object of order and coherency it is necessary to stick to one train of thought, and yet the thoughts in your mind are in no such order. Thoughts, they flit in and out of your mind with no particular care for coherency. I'm thinking of rain falling on the pond, it looks like spots appearing as if a disease all across the pond's brown surface, or like spots on a Dalmatian. Then my mind goes back to the original thought and dwells on the shape of the raindrops falling. I remember watching a video about how the artists created the rain in Bambi, they filled a dropper with milk and watched slow motion videos of the milk dripping down and splashing into the bowl.
All of a sudden that train of thought is lost in thinking about the play I'm in. I think about how much I enjoy playing two characters in one play. I think about how I can make these characters as different as possible from each other, and how I'm planning on changing my hairstyle at least twice during the course of the play. I'm thinking about how easy it would be to talk too quickly, having each word we utter in the play memorized. Then I'm thinking about conversation. Sometimes I think out how conversations will go beforehand, I think about what I should say and how I should say it. In a sense I'm trying to memorize my conversation beforehand, as if it were simply an act in a play. But life rarely gives you an opportunity to speak that memorized speech, or at least as you planned it. Life is an adventure, not a play to memorize. We might think we know someone, but we will never know for sure what goes through their mind, what words will come out of their mouth. I suppose that's what makes me nervous about my interview for the scholarship on Thursday, I hope I do well, but I won't have a chance to think out my responses. I like to have time to think.
That's why I like writing so much. When you write you can put into words thoughts that you have been turning around in your mind for years and years. In most stories I've written I've found myself writing out thoughts about events from years ago. I always think what I'm writing is fictional, and then I read over it again and I find that I've put bits of myself into every character. Bits of me are scattered throughout the stories, the best of me and the worst of me. I remember talking about this a while back with a good friend, she asked if a part of my story was "real" and I said immediately "Oh no." because I thought it wasn't. It was completely from my imagination that story, I've never been in a situation similar to my heroine, I couldn't think of anyone more dissimilar than myself, but suddenly this heroine was spouting out thoughts I'd had myself. Those thoughts were mine and hers together. It's really interesting to think as you read of the author who has written this story. Writing is about digging into your soul. There is no way to write without sharing bits and pieces of yourself even if that is not your intention. I don't mean copying yourself and your life. No, that's not what I mean at all. I mean writing someone else's story, and then finding yourself in a brief thought or word that flouts through the story.
Now I've completely lost what I was thinking about when I started writing these thoughts on writing. I was going to talk about my interview on Thursday, but we'll leave that for now. It'll turn out as it turns out.

I'm reading...

Right now I'm reading Waking Rose by Regina Doman out loud to my brother. Waking Rose is my favorite of her books. I love that book because there's so many layers to it. Even though I've read it many times I still find something different in it. It's a story mixed with bits of reality and fantasy, with daily life at a Catholic College and with knights and ladies fighting for what is good and right. My favorite characters in it are the Knights of the Sacra Cor. They are funny and sweet, courageous and ready to stand up for what they believe. Then of course, there's Fish and Rose. Fish has always been the character I've loved most in her books, even in the first one. Which is funny because upon reading over them again he really isn't in the first book very much. Only two or three brief scenes, and yet I loved him best even then? Waking Rose is really his story. One of the things I really like about Regina Doman is that she doesn't pass over the after affects. You see characters in plenty of adventure books that have terrible things happen to them, and yet in the very next book they're back to their usual selves, tragic pasts being forgotten in the next adventure. Not so with the Fairy Tale Novels. We see Fish continually struggling with his past. His memories of the past are harder for him to deal with then when the actual event was taking place. When I read this book for the first time I didn't understand all that was going on, but now that I do I love it even more. It deals with some pretty deep topics, but what you're taking from it really depends on the place you are in when you're reading it. I also love Fish and Rose's relationship and how it blossoms. It gives a very real picture of love and what it's about. It isn't sappy love at first sight, nor is it a case of mutual dislike turned upside down (ugh it drives me nuts when this happens). It's shows love as a choice. My favorite bit about this is how Fish doesn't come to care for Rose in that way till he consciously opens up to her. He makes the decision to trust her and that is the beginning of something beautiful. Their relationship is that of a friendship blossomed into something that much closer and more beautiful.

I'm wearing...

A blue dress.

Outside my window...

The canoe has been hoisted half way up the hill and is now resting in the daisies between the pond and my window. Just beyond it a shadow divides the lawn. Dew drops can be seen on each blade of grass in this shadowed area, beyond the great divide the sun has dried all morning dew and the daisies have unfurled themselves. (Now that I have put you to sleep with my description of the outside world I shall proceed. Such a description would only be interesting if I tossed a character or two in there. Perhaps a dark and mysterious figure in the shade and sunny faced pleasant character in the sun. Don't mind me. I'm babbling.)

 I'm creating...

I'm determined to finish the letters I've started writing. I really do need to get them in the mail. I'm a fearful procrastinator sometimes and I've been neglecting my correspondence horrendously. Then I'm wracked with guilt.

I'm thinking...

Isn't it funny how things can change over the course of a year? Everything changes. It changes as a year passes, as a month goes by, as each day turns into the next. We change- but never entirely. We grow from the single building block we were to begin with to a castle of blocks. Parts of that castle are knocked over, our clumsy hands have knocked down what we were trying to form, but the blocks are lying on the ground waiting to be picked up and placed back into position. Each event, each memory, each success and each mistake, meshing together, forming our castle. There's the story Mom and Dad told me of how I sobbed when I first watched Hercules at age three, saying "He shouldn't leave his Mommy and Daddy." Time passes and I'm ten, waiting for my parents to return from a weekend trip, knowing that my grandparents are worried because I've been sulky all day long. "I just want to go home. I just want my parents home." I mummer grumpily to a pillow. Time goes by yet again and I've just turned thirteen. I'm laying in a bunk bed at a summer camp repeating over and over again to myself "I don't want to be here. I'm calling Dad and Mom in the morning. I'm not staying here. I don't like it." Then all of a sudden I'm sixteen and on a bus traveling through Europe. I glance out a window and let myself sniffle a bit. I miss home and my family, but as I look out the window I know I wouldn't go home that instant if I could. I would still wait till my trip was ended, even though it hurt. Then I'm seventeen, kneeling in a little chapel on a college campus, thinking this is where I want to be. I want to go here. Isn't it funny how people change? Funny, and beautiful.

I'm reading...

Rapunzel Let Down by Regina Doman. Wow. I don't quite know what to say. Everything feels real in this book. It breaks your heart. The world seems very dark and everything has gone black. There is so much very real pain. It hurts. Really, really hurts. Then you are filled with peace and there's beauty coming out of the darkness. The whole theme of this book is how God can take something bad, something ugly, and through His grace, something beautiful is brought about. It's very- real. That's all I can say. Her other books are books that I read over and over again because I love them. They make me happy whenever I read them and go to them when I'm looking for an old favorite. Rapunzel Let Down isn't like that. It isn't the sort of book you would read again and again because you enjoy it, but it is the sort of book that will last in your mind. Something to think about, to ponder. It's because part of it hurts so much that what follows is so beautiful and makes you feel so peaceful. It goes back to how without suffering we wouldn't understand what joy is, without dark we wouldn't understand light, but that doesn't make you stop wishing that it hadn't happened. If only they had chosen differently, if only sin didn't exist. Because their lives were destroyed before something beautiful came from the destruction, and it doesn't have to be that way. It shouldn't be. I'm probably putting this badly and I haven't quite finished it so I haven't yet finished sorting out my thoughts, but...I just, wow.

Outside my window...

Everything is looking very, very green. Green grass. Brilliant green leaves. Darker Green trees. Green bushes. Green.

I'm listening to...

the Loreena McKennett station on Pandora. I love this music because so much of it is old poetry that's been put into song. I love listening to the words of this music.

I'm creating...

I started knitting again at the last rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing (did I mention I'm taking part in a play?) and I want to keep going with my red slouchy hat again. I always forget when I'm not knitting how much I enjoy knitting. Though, I'm not watching murder mysteries while knitting late at night again. I don't think I've quite recovered from last time I was silly enough to do that. Miss Marple, indeed.

Also, on a creative note, I thought it would be fun to try and make one of those video book reviews. I always write them, and it would be sort of fun to try making them in video form for once. At least to try it out.

A picture thought I'm sharing...

This is one of the pictures of the tulip fields that Mom took yesterday. Look at the gorgeous tulips!

In the Name of the Star

By Maureen Johnson

2/5

(Aaaand I feel like I'm going to be negative for my first of the book reviews. Sowwy. Last book I read)

When I began this book I literally had no idea what it was about. It was one of three books that were placed in my hand by someone at work about a week ago. I don't think I had even heard the name before that moment.

Basically the story is about a seventeen year old named Rory. She is going to London to attend school for a year. London is in a panic because there's a bunch of murders taking place- murders that seem to be mimicking the murders of Jack the Ripper.

Basically, gruesome is a good word.

Very, very gruesome.

(Can I just take a moment to say I am very confused by the cover after having read it? First of all I really have no idea who the girl is supposed to be. The main character does not have red hair and never does she curl up in a ball on the ground. I mean. Wut. There is a girl mentioned in a newspaper who is said to have red hair but she is mentioned only once during the entire story? Why would the cover picture depict her? Secondly, the shadowy figure in the background is clearly dressed in regency garb and I can only assume it is supposed to be the original Jack the Ripper but as he is not the real villain of this story I am again brought to...why? I don't know, the cover just doesn't make sense to me.)

SPOILERS BELOW.

So I guess it should have been obvious to me from the beginning that this was a ghost story. Actually, it sort of was, but I kept hoping I would be proved wrong and it was all some mastermind plan created by man. You know, non-dead man.

I guess this is a personal preference and I just really don't like ghosts in stories. I find them very unbelievable and I'm not sure why. I'm not usually that person who complains about believability. For the most part I'll swallow anything. You could tell me that the main character jumped from a flaming building, turned part cyborg, had an obsession with unicorns and ate only celery and I would nod my head happily and go along with it. So I'm not sure why it is that as soon as a ghost is mentioned I roll my eyes and sigh. It doesn't bother me much as long as they're nonessential to the storyline, but if they're heavily involved in the plot of the thing I find it all rather a bore. I guess that this is because I feel like it's a bit of an easy way out. "Oh so all these murders are happening but nobody can see the murderer in any of the security cameras? SURPRISE WE HAVE A GHOST."

My other problem with this story was that we don't find out for sure that this is a ghost story until half way (?) through the book. I think this was intentionally done but for me this added to the unbelievability. For half of the story we see a normal girl going to a normal (ish) school and everything is normal (we have some questions in our minds as to the weird kid who sits in the dark, sure, but questions are what keep our interest) and then the entire story turns around at the half way point and we have a ghost story.

This brings me to the part of this book I like the most; the relationships between all the characters. (Which is funny because I honestly didn't feel all that attached to any one of them individually) However, I found it very interesting thinking about how Rory's viewpoint changes over the course of the story. Everything changes for her. At the beginning she forms all these normal friendships, with Jazza and Jerome, but after seeing ghosts she just can't go back to these normal friendships she had. What I liked about this was the parallel I found myself drawing with this fantasy situation and a real life one. Rory's friendships at the beginning were the friendships of a child and you could compare the changes that affect her once she starts seeing ghosts with the changes of a child that is forced to quickly grow to an adult. Watching her try to slip back into her friendships with Jazza and Jerome were like watching an adult trying to pick up a friendship with someone who hasn't grown up yet, who is still a child. I found that an interesting thought. Sad, but interesting.

In the end I don't think I would read this book again, and unless I was really desperate I don't think I would be searching out the sequels. My overall reaction was "Eh."

In it's favor I did read it all the way through, but I felt like I was forcing myself at times.

I'm thinking...

I really want to start blogging on a regular basis again. Not just journaling pages, but real blog posts. Especially book reviews. I frequently say I'm going to start posting book reviews- but then I read so many books that I get overwhelmed and don't know what to say. This time I'm really going to start writing them. I am. I love reading other peoples book reviews and they always make me want to post some myself. They will be book reviews with plenty of spoilers however, so be warned. (I shall put a spoiler warning at the top of each post). My favorite book blog is Sarah's and I really like her method of rating books (See: http://thearomaofbooks.wordpress.com/about/ratings-method-of-fictional-work/)

I also made a new GoodReads account: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/12739408-emily so if you have one do do find me because it's much funner if you know plenty of people.

Outside my window...

Looking outside today makes me long for summer. Of course, I don't exactly want to skip spring, but I'm so looking forward to long sunny days, curled up in a patch of sunlight reading. Yes, this is the way I think about summer. I think about reading in a warm patch of sunlight.

One of my favorite things...

This video is pretty much my favorite thing on the Internet right now. Yep. Pretty much.

I'm reading...

Divergent by Veronica Roth. *emits inhuman squealing noises* I don't know how else to put it but keyboard smashing AIUGHDGKHAGKH. (The Internet has taken it's toll on yours truly.)

I'm wearing...

Jeans and a grey dress over top. Undignified, yes. Comfy, also yes. Besides this dress is too short to wear without pants, but it's too comfy to throw away. I wear it only at home days. Now you know my secrets. Guard them well.

A few plans for the rest of the week...

I shall write my first book review this week. There it is, written in black and white. No backing down now. Not even if procrastination and laziness swallow my soul and I whither up beneath their evil claws. Wow, that sentence went melodramatic, and I'm not even going to backspace. What is the world coming to?

Also, schoolwork.

Also, reading.

Also, writing. I'M A NOVEL WRITER (...I cry pathetically as unwritten words wrap around me and crush me to the floor) I SHALL NOT BE DEFEATED.

Obviously, I'm in a melodramatic mood.

A Quote I'm sharing...

My birthday is coming up this week, and that made me think of this quote. I remember stumbling on it a little while ago and loving it. I've never read the story it's from, but I like the quote so much that I am definitely planning on it. I believe it's from a short story called Eleven by Sandra Cisneros. Beyond that I really don't know much about the story, but it's a lovely quote. Bear with me since it's a little longer than quotes I would normally post. It's the perfect quote for the week of a birthday.

"What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are — underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is."

I'm thinking...

There's such a lot of things I could be writing here. I don't know if I've mentioned, but I was recently accepted into my school of choice, so that's been filling my thoughts quite a lot recently. It's a lovely feeling to know not only where I want to attend, but also that I'm an official student for the Fall of 2013. It's funny, it felt that I was waiting such a very long time and I had so much time to imagine out how I would feel if I got that white envelope with an acceptance letter, that it almost didn't feel real. I felt that I had only to blink and I would be back to the waiting process and realize that I had only been imagining it out again. The powers of an overactive imagination I suppose. Anyhow, I'm so very excited. I still feel a little worried about things, but I'm trying not to dwell on that too much. It's so easy to spend all your time worrying and then find that you wasted that time that was supposed to be filled with peace and happiness. These months are supposed to be months that I get to enjoy all the time of expectancy and excitement. Months of planning. I don't want to waste them in worrying. I know this is the college and I need to trust that everything will work out as it's supposed to.

On another note my head has been brim full with Much Ado About Nothing lines. Apparently my brain would not rest upon having memorized my own lines and is now forcing me to memorize everyone else's as well. Shakespeare lines go flouting through my head all day long and I believe if I'm caught unaware sometime I shall suddenly shout at somebody "BOYS. APES. BRAGGARTS. JACKS. MILKSOPS." or,  as it is more likely, I shall random start muttering dialogues that have nothing to do with my character. "What? My dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?" "Is it possible that disdain should die when she has such meat food as Signor Benedick?" I'm afraid I've already caught myself at this obvious sign of insanity, and I'm finding it quite hard to keep from chattering to myself as I shelve books at the library. It's always been hard not to drift into dialogues (most often dialogues I'm writing for my own stories) at work, and even harder to keep from repeating things that I've memorized. Once you know the alphabet backwards and forwards and are slipping books and DVDs into their places at top speed you find your mind has far too much room for thoughts pertaining to other things than the job at hand.

On the subject of Shakespeare plays I recently went and saw Love's Labor Lost, which I would almost say is my favorite play now. It was awfully funny and very cleaverly done. They had set it in a 1920s area, a timeperiod I love and it was really fun watching it, especially from the viewpoint of someone who is currently taking part in a Shakespeare play. What I loved most was all the physical humor, at one point they had one of the characters reading a love poem that he had written all over his arms and puzzling how he was to send it.

Outside my window...

Little beads of dew are dripping off the blades of grass. There's something red hidden in the grass but I can't quite make out what it is, perhaps a ball of some sort. I can also see some of those tiny daisies appearing, though they don't seem to be open. Just closed little buds waiting for some sunshine to appear.

I'm listening to...

A CD of piano music called Overcome by David Nevue.

I'm creating...

I don't know if I'm really creating anything at the moment. No continuous project, I mean. Saturday afternoon Ella and I sat on the table and painted pages and pages of green watercolors. I painted a poster with that John Green quote "My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations." I think that's my favorite quote, or part out of any of his books. A sentence of brilliance.

Oh but camp NaNoWriMo is coming up! I think that's in June? I haven't read too much about it, except that I know there is one (I get the newsletters, you see.)

Oh and in May I'm going to get to sew! We're going to sew lovely vintage dresses and I'm so excited to think about it.

From the kitchen...

I thought perhaps I would write out a sentence regarding the dinner I wished to make, but having written it out I decided it sounded far too mundane and instantly backspaced.

On a random note we've been discussing what we're going to do for my birthday and I'm really excited now. I think we're maybe going to get dressed up and go to see Jersey Boys which is playing at one of the gorgeous theaters, or perhaps go and listen to the Symphony which would be splendid fun as well.

All in all this has been a rather excitable journaling page. I'm in just an excitable mood. That is, I would be if I weren't so tired. Sleep is good.

I’m thinking…

As I begin this day, and this journaling page I want to start off with this prayer:

Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

I went into Mass on Sunday feeling upset and hurt, and walked away feeling peaceful and happy. I think lately I’ve been a bit caught up on how things are affecting me specifically; how people are affecting me, how events specifically affect me and that viewpoint has been making me feel unhappy and upset. I’ve been feeling used and walked upon because I’ve been focused on other people’s actions and words, rather than how my actions and words are affecting other people. The thing is, you can’t change anyone else, and you can only change yourself, and work on your own outlook. You can only control the person you are going to be and the affect that person is going to have on others. I can either focus on my own hurt, or I can focus on how I can try and bring joy and happiness into others lives. I can either choose to be unhappy, or I can choose happiness. It’s often as simple as that.

I want to stop putting myself in a situation where I often come away feeling second best, a back-up plan. I’m going to stop going out of my way only to find myself sitting again curb feeling discarded. This isn’t anyone else’s problem, it’s mine. There’s a difference between being a good friend who is there when someone needs you and jumping up at their beck and call at the least notice. This doesn’t mean I’m upset or angry anymore- and I’ve been there. I’ve been in a place where I’m so angry that I don’t want ever to be around people again. This isn’t constructive either. I’m going to try and be a good friend, someone who can visit and be friendly, and yet at the same time not throw myself into trying to make everything perfect only to be dropped.

I’m not going to focus on those people who hurt me. I’m surrounded by so many people who love and care for me, my family, and I want to be happiness in their lives. I want to be focusing on others rather than myself.

Yes, I’m a far ways away from being that person. From being the person I’m trying to be. I’m working on it though. I know the sort of person I want to be, and that’s half the battle. I know I want to take this prayer truly to heart. I want to turn this viewpoint of mine upside down. I want to be happy because I’m focusing on those changes that I can make, because I’m fixing those things that can be fixed and not making myself unhappy about those things that can’t. I want to focus on the good in people.

I'm listening to...

 

The Les Miserables Soundtrack.

 

I'm creating...

 

I need to finish working on several scholarship applications with deadlines that are quickly approaching. I suppose this can be listed under creative work, can't it? It certainly needs effort in creating.

 

A few plans for the rest of the week...

 

This week I want to spend more time reading. More time drawing. More time writing. Much more time writing. Less time on the computer. More time creating. More time thinking, imagining, working. Less time on things that don't really matter at all. I want to write. To write stories, and blog posts and poetry. I want to read, biographies, fiction, short stories and poetry. I want to learn. I want to grow. I want this week to be a happy, productive, beautiful week.

 

Outside my window...

 

Mud, mud, mud. Which would be delightful- that is if I had the proper footwear for it. I need a new pair of rubber boots rather desperately. Very necessary around here.

 

 

From the kitchen...

 

It's almost lunchtime, and so, this must be

 

The End.

 

 

I’m thinking…

I have decided that one of the things I need to work on is beginning to like preparation work. Unfortunately, as of right now I loathe it, and I really think I always have. There is a reason why I have always hated writing outlines before writing, why I hate cutting out patterns before sewing and there’s nothing I like less than taping off a room before painting it. This isn’t productive for obvious reasons. It’s necessary to do the taping before you paint and the cutting out of patterns- at least if you want your finished product to be of any worth. I find it awfully like torture though. When I start a project I am so very excited to actually start. I can’t wait to write those first few words on the page, to make that first splash of paint on the white wall, and putting off that visible start is awful. Perhaps this can be simplified to saying that I need to work on patience, the patience to do the necessary work before I’m able to begin the enjoyable part of the work.

Actually, patience is definitely something I need to work on. I’ve found this out over the past couple months from long hard lessons of waiting for college and scholarship applications to be returned to me.  You can picture me here strangling a mail box and then slowly crumpling up and dying. Yes, this is melodramatic, but Emily is melodramatic on occasion (as we know too well) and suspense is not something I handle well. This would be why I read books so quickly. Not because I’m a fast reader (though I suppose you could say that as well) but because I simply won’t put the book down until I have finished it because I don’t handle suspense. (Let me here recommend the book Entwined, which has been my record breaker fast read for the year. Yes, I know, it’s only March.)

I’m listening to… King of Anything, Sara Bareilles.

Outside my window… it’s lightly raining outside. I hope it gets harder. What I hope most is that we have a great big storm and the power goes out. That’s always my favorite. I love lighting candles and wrapping up in blankets. I love the feeling of it being cold and rainy outside and being nice and cozy inside. I really love storms. 

I’m reading… Cinder. I’m actually not very far into it but so far I’ve found the whole premise quite interesting. Normally I wouldn’t be too interested in books about cyborgs etc. but I’ve heard quite a few favorable recommendations of it so I thought I’d give it a go.

From the kitchen…about as soon as I finish this I shall start on making up Chicken Enchiladas for dinner.

I’m creating… a drawing of a duck. It’s for a scholarship I’m going to be trying to enter. I would post it but I don’t think you want to have things you’re going to enter in contests published on anything, even if it’s only you’re personal blog. I think that’s usually the procedure. Could be wrong.

 A few plans for the rest of the week… Wednesdays are a busy day of the week. First play practice and then work for me. They both take up quite a bit of time and I go from one to the next so Wednesday is a busy day. I’m looking forward for Thursday because I like Thursday. I’ll probably be babysitting Ella and that’s lovely. Friday is of course lovely simply because it’s Friday, almost the weekend. I’m really looking forward to Saturday because after I get off work my cousin and I are going to go to Mass and then come back to my house and have a nice time visiting and watching movies. Perhaps we’ll make brownies or milkshakes or something. So Saturday sounds quite pleasant. Then it’s Sunday and the end of the week. Is it just me or do weeks feel like they’re getting shorter? It’s only Tuesday and it already feels near the end of the week.

 I’m hoping and praying…well, I’m rather hoping I hear back from the Union Carpenters Scholarship I applied for. I worked really hard on that one, considering the essay topic was something I found very intimidating, and I pushed through and researched and came up with a finished product. So hopefully I hear back from them.

 One of my favorite things…mail. It doesn’t matter whether it’s physical mail or email. I just love mail. There’s nothing better than finding mail waiting for you to discover and open it.