Sunday School Rebel

just call me cheeseburger

So, things are better around here. 

(Insert gospel choir here, singing, praise YE, JE-SUS!)

It's amazing, what a little time with family and friends and I don't know, daily showering, can do for a girl, a mama.  Isn't that funny - many times I do feel, still, like such a young girl, like a 12 year old with gawky limbs, but I am mama and wife and also Sam, the nearly-thirty-year old human, woman, who's trying to figure out this new place, both in and out, my soul, my heart, my landscape.

I feel certain that nothing, perhaps, will be as hard as the first week of everything being so new.  It especially will help that I'm due for regular doses of well-filling activities every weekend or so for awhile now, time with family and friends, and that is simply what will have to get me through the lonely spots.  I've also re-assessed my own expectations for what a day needs to look like for Thomas and I.  Looking back, I was trying a little TOO hard to be Suzy Happy Homemaker, whatwith a good hot meal for my man every single night.  Not that he doesn't NEED a good meal, but I'm thinking maybe every other night I can attempt something really good (tonight: lasagna, the extra special kind, with mushrooms and pepperoni) and then we can eat leftovers the next night, or that always bright option: sandwiches.

But, I must give weekend details, or at least our weekend-that-spills-over into the week.         

Saturday night, we journeyed home, spent the first night with Not My Boss (Eddie, of course) and the Real Boss, His Wife (I heart you Audra). Thomas was beside himself when he woke up on Sunday morning and found there were LITTLE GIRLS to play with! This kid adores other kids, and he gave the oldest Kid a five minute hug. Maybe he's been a little lonely, too? I was beside myself when I walked into the guest room and there were magazines and CHOCOLATES on the bed.  After I finally got my child to bed, I climbed out of bed and read People magazine, on the floor, by the light of the closet.  We were all thoroughly spoiled and I appreciated it so, so much. 

Music was led for the early service, my last one for awhile, unless something changes.  I'm not dwelling on that, because it's never really going to be "the last."  Our church is our church, forever and ever - I mean, it's where I've spent nearly every Sunday for at least eight years.  It's home, and always will be home, and in that we are luckier than most. I'm trying to adjust my expectations to whatever is coming next for us, and I know what I'll miss most is that at-home feeling of being known, and loved, so-very-beloved. 

Sunday night we spent with Beaux's side of the family, which was good - loud and crazy, as usual.  We saw the East Coast branch of the family, including baby R, who is only three weeks younger than Thomas.  Her mom and I spent most of our time trading back and forth updates and progress reports.  Thomas was a total BOY and spent a lot of the night taking baby R's stuff away from her.  Oy, what's a mama to do? I know it's just his age and that he really doesn't GET sharing quite yet.  I figured baby R would sock it to him if she really objected, and she seemed pretty okay with the minor thievery. She was just adorable and happy as a clam, playing with Mega blocks, and then Thomas would be all-Swiper-esque.  We let the babies play as long as possible until bedtime, and then it was meltdown time.  Holy Jesus.  There's nothing worse than seeing the signs of meltdown-ness, and saying, "Okay, honey, let's get on to the house," and minutes while away as your husband malingers over his coffee and the next thing you know, VOLCANO BABY happens.  Thankfully, it was a short drive to the parents-in-laws' house, and we all settled in for the night. 

Monday was leisurely and easy, we simply hung out, at least as much as you can hang out when you're not at home with all your stuff.  I love that my mother-in-law has a thousand magazines to read, but it's just that I have to read them with one eyeball because the other eyeball is on baby watch.  I did escape for a solo trip to Target during Thomas' nap, and happily found birthday party plates for Thomas' upcoming birthday party.  On clearance! Oh, happy day for me. 

We didn't start for home until later in the afternoon, really, like six p.m., hoping that Thomas would take the hint and go to sleep.  Do you hear me laughing? With bitterness? Thomas refused to go to sleep, and then got royally pissed that he had to be in the backseat, while we were in the front seat, having fun.  The only thing that made it better was to sing him his sleepy songs (a certain rotation of Twinkle, Twinkle, You are My Sunshine, among other kidlet hits) and stroke his forehead. He didn't cry the whole ride home, more like half the way, but STILL. 

Tuesday, we half-heartedly unpacked, and whole-heartedly got sucked in by The First 48 on A&E.  Oh my gosh - have you seen this? It's terribly addictive. Don't watch it unless you want to bite your nails over a real life crime and also, laugh at all the crazy names criminals go by.  Like Cheeseburger.  No, really. 

Wednesday, it was all-my-family time, with my aunt flying in for my mom's birthday (which is this weekend).  I went with Mama to the airport (a very convienient ten minutes from our apartment)while Thomas napped (Beaux was home, no worries!) and then we hit a couple of stores on the way back.  Lunch with the boys -at our new favorite place that has delicious hummus and amazing pizzas - Thomas sitting in his Lovie's lap the entire time, acting like a complete angel.  After that, it was a trip to the toy store for birthday presents (all approved by me, I had to steer my aunt away from an obnoxious singing guitar) - thankfully, the boy is still young enough to not care if we don't put a certain toy in the cart.  I think the adults had more fun with all the toys than he did. In fact, I was sad that the toys all went home with Lovie until the birthday party - we're finally getting into toys that I can play WITH him, or help him get started at least. Of course, he's pretty happy if we just let him carry around an old remote, so maybe nothing will change, toy-wise.

So, we arrive at today, which was a really good day.  I managed to get supper together at a reasonable hour, even make a salad, and surprise Beaux with Klondike bars in the freezer. Also, I've been grooving along to the Robbie Seay band - it's been a really long time since I found a Christian band that makes me want to go out and buy their CD, but their stuff is really amazing.  I might be a little late to the game on them, but what a discovery.  Very honest and aching and open, and yet with so much hope.  Check them out, if you haven't already.

I'm better, really.  We're all better, and things are slowly feeling more and more okay.  And more okay is good enough for me, for now. 

sing a song of hope

If you could tell from my whiny twitters, I've been solo parenting for four days now.  Four days of twelve hour shifts for Beaux, and four days of me being responsible for everything and having no break, except naps. I've cooked supper for three nights, done cleanup, put the baby to bed, changed every single diaper.  My respect for people who do this all the time, the single parenting gig, has grown to monumental proportions.  I think they deserve two week vacations every other month, plenty of whatever drinks they fancy, and free babysitting.  And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. 

Today I broke down when I was changing Thomas' dirty diaper, and despite my best efforts, he got his hands all in his poop.  The wipes were dryish and not helping matters, so all there was to do was plop him in the bathtub and pray he didn't poop anymore.  He didn't poop in the tub, thank all that is holy, but I sat there and cried with my face in my hands while he laughed, thinking this was some long kind of peekaboo. I was so angry and so mad at myself for not being able to handle it, for wanting to just close the door and run away for a little while.  After awhile I was better, and I'm much better now,  since Beaux is home, and we're about to head out the door for home for church tomorrow and a big family time tomorrow night.  I think the best part is that I won't be the only adult in the house, and I won't have to cook supper and take care of everything, all by myself.  I'm not so good at this all by myself thing, not yet, anyway.

So, wahoo! On the road again, jiggity jig.   

you are one

Dear Thomas,

My heart is so full, to think that you have been here on Earth with us for a whole calendar year.  One trip around the sun, my little dude, one swooping galactic voyage through the stars.  Last night I cried as I rocked you to sleep, because I feel so incredibly fortunate to be your mama, so unbelievably rich in you, my son.  You truly are my treasure - there's that verse that says "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" - and you are my golden coins, my sapphires and rubies, the bracelets jingling with joy around my wrists.  My heart is like a radio station that plays one song, twenty four hours a day, a song of you. 

I love you so much.  The word "love" doesn't convey the depths and heights of what I feel for you, but it's a word that will have to do. I love you with crimson banners, with corridors lined with candles, with deep blue sky love. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama, for enlarging my capacity for every good thing this life can bring . There is no honor greater, than this gig, this blessed time we have together.  Never doubt that you bring your daddy and I untold joy, and I have a feeling you will continue to do so, to every person you grace with your love, all the days of your life. 

Happy birthday, my big boy, my always baby boy, my lucky red-star dream child. 

I will forever consider myself blessed beyond measure, simply because you are my child. 

Mama

 

adjustment period

We are moved. I am surrounded by boxes, boxes lovingly hefted and loaded by my husband and parents.  I spent most of the move chasing after Sir Thomas, keeping him occupied and also feeling like I was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.  It was many things, all the chaos that moving brings, the unbalanced feelings that come from having your life in boxes, not to mention the aggravation of trying to find suitable work clothes (including long johns!) for Beaux for his new work.  Heavenly day, the last thing I love is running errands in the July heat, and then to find that I KEPT BUYING THE WRONG DAMN THING - well, it's enough to make a girl run away and start a new life, preferably a life that involves a lot of drinking tropical drinks.  I think I even threatened to do that, to take what little money we have and drink it away. Maybe at a cheap happy hour?  An uncharacteristic threat from me, but dang it, sometimes I can be a tad bit dramatic.

It really is the swirl of everything being so different, and the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I moved at a snail's pace with this move.  You can only move so fast with a child who's discovered that clinging to his mama's legs is a great way to make her stand still.  In every way, I felt inadequate, and ill-equipped, and just all around icky about the drudgery of packing. I felt so very uncomfortable, and when I get uncomfortable, I get rather angry.  I wasn't so much fun to be around when the overwhelmingness would hit me and it was Hurricane Sam, churning throughout the house.  I haven't been too impressed with myself as a human being, lately, and have probably used up more grace in the emergency tanks that God keeps in his storage closet than anyone could legitimately request, but you know, that's how grace works.

But it's over, thank goodness, and thankfully unpacking is a whole different sort of task.  Unpacking is rather fun, except for when you run out of places to stick things! And it seems the kitchen will never fully be unpacked.  But that's okay.  We're making it through. I know that each day, this place will feel more like home, the place where I drink my morning coffee and chase my child around.  I am once again filled with total love and gratitude for my parents.  They always help us in just the right way, and we've sworn that this is the last time they will help us move. There is no way we could have done this without them, we'd still be loading boxes on the U-Haul, in a bleary daze, like zombies.   

So, let's talk about all the good things, shall we?

• Our apartment complex is very, very nice.  If you have to do apartment living, this is the place to do it.  The people in the office are so genuinely kind and helpful and remember my child's name.  You can't get better service than that!
• Our neighbors are just too sweet, so far.  Already I've spoken with several of them more times than any of my previous neighbors, ever.  One even offered to take our trash to the dumpster! How neighborly!
• We have adorable dogs living in our building.  One is a puggle named Huntley, who sports an Ole Miss collar. There's also a Jack Russell named Izzy, and I've heard there's a Great Dane! A Great Dane! Thomas is going to flip out when he catches sight of such a ginormous dog.
• Yesterday I ventured out to a grocery store.  I really want to break the *Wal-Mart* habit, so I kept driving until I found a great alternative.  The best part? THEY LOAD YOUR GROCERIES INTO YOUR CAR.  It's like I stumbled back into the 1950s or something.  I don't think it was necessarily more expensive than the place with the rollback prices, especially as I didn't get sucked into the baby gear aisle.
• Oh yes.  Our tub - it's a garden tub, and I think I'm going to have to take up bubble baths as a new hobby, just to get the full benefit of this wonderful tub.  So much room for my long legs!

And speaking of good things, Thomas is doing fabulously.  He thinks it's awesome that we keep giving him endless paper to shred, and has also taken up residence in several empty bookshelves, like a little hobbit.

I think we're going to make it here, after all. 

touching base

Today was our first leg of the move - one load up in a U-Haul, with Lovie staying behind to entertain Thomas.  Or maybe it was the other way around? There was definitely fun to be had, while we unloaded all those non-essential things, except that books are never a non-essential, are they?

Speaking of books, I've pared down my collection by TEN boxes.  I can't believe it.  I've also been heartless about getting rid of old clothes, and shoes, dropping off five or more bags of stuff at a consignment store along the way. It feels weirdly good to be without things that just weigh you down with their presence.

Even in the midst of moving, I must read, if only to keep feeling normal.  After a conversation with Beaux, I picked up my beloved Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.  I'd been a little intimidated to read it, afraid that it was going to be all preachy and snooty, but we're both feeling a strong urge to start eating locally.  Thankfully, it's really friendly and accesible (which of course, I sighed, it's Barbara) and  I'm learning so much and feeling very inspired - especially now as my future lies ahead of me in a new kind of way, a reinvention of sorts. I'd like to be that kind of person, who eats more mindfully, who appreciates where and who and how my food comes to me, and my family. 

And last but not least, my randomly chosen winner for the Pay It Forward contest is Barb at Get Up and Play!  Hooray, Barb!

because we all love shiny happy objects, right?

In the history of all things Sunday School Rebel, there's never been a real, honest-to-God contest on the premises.  That's because I started blogging way back when, before there was such a thing as blog contests, and I still tend to think of them as rather new-fangled inventions. However, I decided to jump in and join Swistle's Pay It Forward Extravaganza, because why not?  It's not like I'm doing anything incredibly time-consuming or anything in the next couple weeks...oh wait.  I am.  I decided to participate as a way to have something to say besides oh woe is me with my many, many boxes to pack.

Check out Swistle's blog for the complete list of blogs participating.  I think it's fun, because you can enter as many contests as you like, which why wouldn't you? Don't you like to consider winning cool stuff, whatever that cool stuff may be? It's a bit like the lottery, without having to go to the grungy gas station for your ticket. The only hitch is that IF you win, you are encouraged to pay it forward - you have to host your OWN Pay It Forward contest. If you don't have a blog, then we can host it here on my blog, so don't let that keep you from entering!

Another reason I agreed to do have my own Pay It Foward contest is to have a valid excuse (next week) to visit the lovely, shiny Target that is only minutes from our new apartment, when I actually MOVE to the new apartment.  You know, a visit to Target can brighten ANY day, especially days in which you are in a new town with no friends and the only people you know are the ones that you are, lawfully or by blood, related to.  Of course, my own particular prize package will be customized to the winner's taste as much as possible, with some local Mississippi flavor as well.  Then I will have a splendid excuse to find my local post office and post the package to the winner.  So see, if you enter my personal contest here, you are helping me adjust.  You are doing a GOOD DEED.  Think of all the karma, just piling up, by allowing me an excuse to go to a happy place, learn my way around the new town, and also giving me something to do besides unpack boxes. 

So! All you have to do to be enter is leave a comment by Friday July 4th at 11:59 p.m., and if you don't know what to say, tell me, how many times have you moved in your life? Moving in the same town doesn't count, really, unless that's the only time(s) you've moved, and then of course it counts.  I have moved six times, and by next week, I'll hit lucky number seven. 

And for your parting shot, please giggle over the boxes Beaux picked up from his workplace (a hospital).  I snort a little every single time I see them. 

from the tribe of Issachar

In my little corner of the world, we're in the midst of that word that strikes fear into most adults I know:

VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL.

(da da dum DUMMMMMM!)

I am going to be very honest with you and thereby confirm my own worst suscipions: that I am terribly uncool.  I doubt that anyone thinks I am cool, because if you've met me in real life you know that I am a klutz and I don't finish my sentences because I lose my train of thought, among many other things.  I also crack myself up far too much.  But the cherry on the top of the uncool sundae is that, deep down, I really, truly like Vacation Bible School.

I have to admit, this year I have an easy gig. Really, the very easiest gig of all.  I do the music, for the opening and closing program, which basically means that I run the DVD player with the music videos for all the songs, a precarious responsibility, and then stand up in front of 90 or so children and behave like a fool.  There are hand motions.  There are WHOLE BODY motions.  The first day was rough, because we were all learning the songs, and I was a little rusty, and feeling very insecure, whatwith the relentless hand motions required for each song.  You see, I am a good singer, but a dancer? Coordinated movement? Is not my gift.  I will never forget when I spent the summer doing Carey Dinner Theater, which involved a great deal of dancing.  My darling Carrie (a CDT alum, of course) came to a show and gave me a big hug afterward, saying, "Oh honey, you really looked like you could dance up there!" But now we're all sailing along with ease, and there's a veritable mosh pit of children with me, singing and dancing and practically doing stage dives from the altar.

Anyway, my job is painless, as long as I can remain uninjured from all the flying limbs around me.  We sing our songs, have a little skit, a Bible verse thing after which we yell "Aha!" and that's the most fun part, really, and then I am FREE.  Free to enjoy coffee and snacks and sit in people's offices at the church and chat away, which I am sure they just LOVE.  I know they are all praying for Vacation Bible School to be over, already, so they can have their quiet offices back.  Usually I do help out with snack, because one can only be just so useless. The first day, I downloaded pictures from email, which is a very long story that I won't share here, but it was an important job, to be sure. Most of all, Thomas is hanging out in the nursery, and I have enjoyed HOURS of child-free time, which is a gift of unimaginable proportions.   I have had entire, complete conversations! And not had to rescue my child from danger, or electrocuting himself, or fish something out of his mouth! All this downtime, really, it's dizzying.

(Best of all, I've actually finished a cup of coffee, from start to finish, and that's like a gift from Jesus himself.  What is it about babies, they have a sixth sense of when you've got that perfect hot cup of coffee, and they promptly need SOMETHING and then you come back and your coffee is cold.  And it's just never the same, not fresh-out-of-the-coffee-pot-hot. )

Watching these kids, all their zing-zah-ing and energy, it makes me smile.  I have many good VBS memories, so I thought I would do a little list, and then ask you to share, good OR bad memories.  Do Yankees have Vacation Bible School? I would like to know. 

• One of my earliest memories is standing on a pew at my grandma's church and singing "Deep and Wide".  Yes, indeed, I was a PEW-STANDER. 
• Kool-Aid.  There was always Kool-Aid at Vacation Bible School, which was part of appeal, since my mom didn't let us have Kool-Aid.  Also, what I call "flower cookies" -the ones with a big hole in the middle, and a strong vanilla smell, sometimes speckled with faux chocolate chips.  Now I know that they're pretty much the cheapest cookies on the shelf, but dang they were a delicacy, especially if you dunked them in your Kool Aid.
• In the eighth grade, we had joined a new church (Lafayette Baptist in Fayetteville, NC) and I worked in the nursery for VBS.  I remember being in HOG HEAVEN, with all those babies, and it helped me get to know a few people in a new situation. I think I kept my shirt from that VBS for years and years, because it was a such a good memory.
• At some point in high school, my hometown church did a very elaborate curriculum, with the Twelve Tribes of Israel as the theme.  I lead the tribe of Issachar proudly. Truly, it was an incredibly educational week, and I remember learning a lot, as well as being in a "village" that took over the entire gym.
• Every time I've gone on mission trips to Utah (on the Navajo Reservation) we've had Vacation Bible School, which is a heartbreaking, incredibly humbling experience. Many of these children are just hungry for love and the stories we tell them, and they are so wide open, so beautiful.  I'll never forget a certain little boy named Shelton...I can close my eyes and see his face clearly.  He stole my heart the minute I stepped out of our van, and he was my shadow the entire week.  I wonder where he is, how he is, and if he knows that there is a still of corner of my heart that is all his, even after all these years. 

It's these snippets that I carry around, these little threads of memory that have surfaced during this week, that reminds me that it's not the perfect craft or pretty song or even, according to your opinion,  theologically correct curriculum that speaks to the kids, but the love with which we go about making each day happen. So do spill, what are YOUR Vacation Bible School memories?

first haircut

Deep in my heart, I really wanted my son to be a long-haired hippie dude.  A cross between the surfer look and the guy who got lost on his way back from Woodstock, figuratively speaking.

For weeks now, people have remarked, "Wow, it's almost time for your first haircut, little guy!" Pretty much everyone we know would say this, like it was something to look forward to, and I would inwardly bristle.  What's wrong with long hair on little boys? I didn't want my kiddo to look like a tiny Republican or something.  (I say that with great love for all the Republicans that I love, including my husband.)

 

But then it was in his eyes when it got wet, and even when it wasn't wet, and he was looking, well, scraggly.  Like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, even.  So when his daddy went to have his hair cut Saturday, we decided it was time to attempt the first haircut.  We had no idea if he would allow scissors to come anywhere near him, and I don't remember anything like a first haircut, even though I was basically three when I grew any hair out of my follicly challenged noggin.  I've always had a problem with scissors coming near my face.  There's just something terrifying when you get your bangs trimmed and the scissors are THISCLOSE to your eyeballs and one little jab...

Miraculously, he sat very still in his daddy's lap, swathed in the big black drape, and allowed the lady with the scissors to snip his lovely, abundant hair out of his eyes.  I captured the moment on both video and in pictures, just like any self-respecting mama would.

And now he is, from all appearances, a big boy.  Please excuse me whilst I go about weeping over his little manly self. 

how to change your entire life in two weeks

Two weeks ago tonight, my husband pulled off the interstate, headed towards his "usual" gas station.  It was full, so he had to choose another one.  There he met a buddy from college, and they got to talking, as we say around here.  His friend told him of his awesome job, and how his supervisors kept asking him, isn't there anyone else from your program that we could hire?

And thus began the spark, the idea, that we could change our lives.  It's funny, there are not many moments of life where you can clearly see the fork in the road.  Rest assured, we are at the fork, and we are bearing north.  We are moving. 

Please don't think I didn't, like some toddler throwing a tantrum, beating my feet against the wall, at the thought of moving, the thought of leaving behind our support system, our one-of-a-kind church family, our actual blood family as well.  I'm not that gracious. Truth be told, Beaux brought up the possibility of this many months ago, maybe last fall, when I was bleary with our new life and the guilt of my child screaming his head off for hours a day and I just couldn't fathom moving.  Couldn't fathom anything but what I knew and what I preferred.  Not the time, dude, is what I told him, and that was that.  This time, when I started to chant but we love it here we already know everyone where will we go to church there's nowhere in America I'd rather gooooo something stopped me.  I realized, after a few terse exchanges with my husband, that I had no right to stand in the way of this, a fabulous, Willy Wonka-esque Golden Ticket, chance of a lifetime opportunity.  By the end of the week, he had an interview, so north we went (only two hours away), and I tried to refocus my vision for what I thought my - our - life would be.  As I chased my son around a Chick-fil-A playground (wonderfully cool and quiet at 10 a.m.), the teutonic plates of our life were shifting. 

With this new job, I will become a stay-at-home mom.  That's huge.  It's a privilege, in every sense of the word. Beyond that, we will be able to aggressively attack our debt (student loans, oh how I hate them!) and be debt-free in a few years.  Oh, and we can squirrel away a tidy stack of cash as a down payment for a house. I can't express how amazing this is for us. So, for trading all our comfort and security in what we know, we're gaining what seems like the impossible.  There's poetry in that.  As much as I resist change, I would be worse than a stubborn donkey of a woman, to say no to this.  And once I got my mind around all the very good things, it started sounded exciting.

Until we returned home, and I realized that the reality was this: in order to move, we had to actually move.  The feelings of sadness welled up so deep and fast that I was submerged in that yucky, frightening place. I cried and cried as I rocked my son to sleep.  I haven't really moved in years, not to a new town, anyhow. I don't know that feeling of not knowing anyone - I am the one who knows, it seems, nearly everyone.  If I don't know someone, then I know someone who does.  I like that. I love both of my jobs, and finally was feeling like I knew what I was doing in both of them. But the scariest thing of all was the idea of transporting my child to a new place.  He is so loved here, he is truly one of the most loved children I've ever known.  I wanted so much to raise him in our church, to be bathed in love and grace. 

Somewhere in the midst of my sadness, I finally realized that I had to, simply, grieve.  It was okay to be sad, I told myself, and my husband, and so I cried.  I prayed and asked God to help me, please, to be okay with all this goodness and sadness mixed up inside my heart.  I went to bed and snuffled myself to sleep.  Then I woke up the next morning and wrote some wise woman friends, to get things out of my head and onto the page.  Soon enough, I was feeling better.  I think there is great power in allowing yourself space to feel things - even "bad" feelings, those scary sad feelings that frighten me so, lest they turn to depression - and I can tell you honestly that I am very happy, with only tinges of sadness remaining.  I don't think it will all become truly real until I trade one empty apartment for another, or that first Sunday where we aren't "home".  And then I will need to make sure there is a stockade of chocolate handy, in order to properly deal with the situation.

We move in less than a month.  It's all happening quickly. I have every faith that there is goodness ahead of us, new friends and situations and yes, even a new church home, perhaps. (Though I am skeptical and may refuse to move my letter, for sentimental reasons alone.)  I have a lot to do, lots of books to pack, and I am ready to simplify our "stuffage" instead of transporting it to another place.  So stay tuned. 

no time, but a cute picture makes up for whatever I lack

first father's day, originally uploaded by sundayschoolrebel.

My thoughts are tumbling around my head likes shoes in the dryer, that CLUMP CLUMP...CLUMP where you finally go yank open the door, and set them out in the sun, because enough with the loud clumping and tumbling, right? That's what writing does for me. It is my linear line of thought. But I don't have time, these days, for all that I have to say and think, all that is circling and swirling. Time is coming, I think, and I'll be able to spill all the emotions and changes that are bubbling and brewing in this soup pot of my soul.

In the meantime, though, I'm off down the highway, literally. More later. Hopefully sooner than later.