I’m packing for Falcon Ridge.

Cleaning out and loading up the car.

Still here day after day, sometimes realizing myself.

In Alfred, Ben Howard the English Professor taught meditation classes. When I reach the quiet spaces in my mind, I can still see him sitting across from me on the floor, I can hear him speaking on being in the moment.

I wonder if ( Read more... )

My Live Journal is now a few days past 5 years old ( Read more... )

River Waltz ( Read more... )

I am a hybrid of:
Academic Girl
Indie Girl

Click on the pictures below to read more:

( Read more... )

My eyes don't want to dialate for you,

but when we kiss they just always seem to.

The cats listen to the elerly woman and her family move her things the apartment downstairs, and I pretend to clean the living room.

The screens in the kitchen kept out fewer insects then they allowed in. Drawn by the constant yellow lights over the sink and oven, they would enter through the tears in the mesh. Behind the faucet, I’d find them in the morning stuck in the dish soap scum and dusty cigarette ash. They stuck worst of all around the oven’s range, in the tacky ( Read more... )

This has been the warmest January I can remember. The ground is dry, the dirty old piles of snow have withered away, and the wind doesn't make my nose freeze ( Read more... )

I left the toliet seat up and Tasca jumped in.

Ooopsie.

There are dollars to be saved, and coins, well quarters. Once the drawers are free from their very last pair of clean socks, and I reluctantly pull on a pair that is not so new, I sort through the laundry. Not in the same piles that my mother makes. My piles are without color or material prejudice - simply need now. All in a heap the underpants, ( Read more... )