Some things I wrote about myself:

I am a certain type of person.

I really like to color and paint.
I like to be in the sun and the water.
I like to be upside down.


When I am having a bad day,
I do not eat a gluten-free, sugarless vegan cookies with soy milk.
I eat that: never.
When I am having a bad day, or a good day, I seek LEGIT dessert.
I believe in sugar and butter.
More than that– I was raised to express love through butter and sugar.
Suggesting I omit those things is like suggesting I omit my childhood.
And my love.
Stop doing that.

Peace Agreement:
If you would like to eat your cookies without butter, flour, eggs, or sugar– no big.
Just let me and my butter be together.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

Sometimes meeting people makes me nervous,
Even though I really like it.
It’s hard for me to eek through the slow process of “opening up.”
When I think we should just have a soul session right here at the table.
What’s worse is when I open the door for a small soul sesh,
And you have nothing to say.
Where is your PASSION?!
What’s really worse is when:
Neither do I.
Sometimes people just aren’t ready.
Sometimes me neither.
I should stop freaking out about this.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

(I think the word should is a little oppressive, but maybe sometimes necessary.)

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

There are certain words I love to use, even though they are not real.
If you use them, you may have more fun talking…

1. I do not like the word cuddle. It reminds me of moldy milk. Instead I say snuggle which has now become SNUG or SNUGGIN.

2. Instead of journal, JOURN. It sounds like journal and journey at the same time,
which is neat-o. It also sounds way cooler than “diary.”

3. Instead of ocean, OSH. Say it with a long O sound and a nice shhhhh at the end. Like the first syllable of kosher or motion. It just sounds better. Admit it. I love this sound. If a word has this sound, I’ll use it every time. Example: Lotion: LOSH!

4. You did that ON PURP! A friendly accusation.

5. Neutral. Like, “Put it in neutral!” I don’t get the chance to say this word very often, but when I do, I revel in it. Check out this abbreve: NEUTCH. You can do it. Just take the -ral sound out of Neutral. Like the GOOTCH in Gucci. The HOOCH in Hoochie Mama. It is a ridiculous sound that only comes in ridiculous words and it is SO FUN TO SAY. Try it. Pretend you are pushing a friend’s broken-down car. You are huffing and puffing and she’s up there in the driver’s seat tryin to steer but it won’t budge. Tell her: “PUT IT IN NEUUUUTCH!” Yeah, try and tell me you didn’t enjoy that.


Biscuits, gravy, and a new life rollin in.

On June 7th I was at a very classy brial shower and tried some authentic scones made by a true Australian. They were topped with (get this) *Lemon Curd.* Yeah, fancy pants. When everything was winding down, the boys came in with leftovers from Claim Jumper’s. More importantly, Ken came home with a cup of gravy for me. That’s when I realized that those scones over there were a lot like biscuits. So I dumped some gravy up on those things and heated them up. In a few minutes, something new to me and known to another land became–with a few creative measures–something familiar and comforting, like home. I think this is how living in Austin will be for me.



These words came out me today.


There are so many bike rides in me.
Long long paths paved by the river.
I am pedaling hard between the trees and smelling the drops of water in the air and curving around and diving through and all along there is SUN. Bright yellow light.
And then I woosh down into the tunnel.
Under the bridge in the dark damp gray.
Me and this shadowy space.
I hear only water, a concrete wall away.
Then in a flash the sun comes back to me and I am wondering:
What it was I left there in the tunnel.

Did you know I ran away once?
I left myself a bag of canned food in the woods behind my house.
When I got to the edge of the trees, it was still there.
The blanket tied-up in a grocery bag.
I was traveling on the trail toward your house.
You were going to leave me a peanut butter sandwich under the bush.
(I left my little brother back home by himself.)
There I was in the green trees and the smell of dirt.
I wonder, did I really go home? Did I bring it all with me?
Is there still a ten year old girl in the woods, determined to do it alone?
I feel her sometimes with her can of green beans.
She has learned the meaning of non-perishable.
I am sad for her.
At best, she is swinging through the trees by now.
But sometimes I worry she has lost her voice in there,
reaching out in the sparkly dust.

I am not really meant for shoes or topic sentences.
If my muscles had a memory, they’d get back on the bike.
And when I finally arrived they would give little shakes in reply.
We are here we are here we are here.


Who are all these people?

Some people like to take photos of their food before they eat it.


I LOVE FOOD. But I don’t usually photograph it.

This is because I usually eat while in transit. I have a piece of toast while walking to school because I woke up late, some Wendy’s chicken nuggets on my drive to the airport because I forgot to plan time for dinner, even a granola bar in one hand while the other hand steers my bike to work. So much of what I eat comes from a little package I bought at the store or a vending machine at school. And even if it doesn’t, there’s just not much beauty to photograph in a hurried piece of toast.



Still, I am very intrigued with these foodie beauties (clever rhyme!). I understand that they love what they make, even though it is gone an hour later. I understand that there is something beautiful about what you choose to put into your body, or the time you spend preparing literal sustenance for your family. This will help them move and live. This is your loving contribution to them. To you. To life. You want to display it with your camera as your form of art. I get it. It’s not my thing yet, but it’s a cool thing if it’s your thing.

What’s my thing?
(Besides eating…)

I love to watch people.
As much as I’d love to proclaim that I am always a PARTICIPANT IN THE ACTION!
…I am so often an observer.

I like watching all the cowboy boots and hip sweaters rush across campus on their cell phones. The people in the grass reading books or taking naps. The guys spittin’ game at the ladies outside the library. The people trying desperately to hand out AS MANY fliers as they can to promote their club/event/cause. I like stopping to read all the posters and reminders and advertisements– not so much for the information as for the colors and fonts and choice of words. I love to wonder what the girl in the car next to me is feeling as we sit at the red light and I see her head down on the steering wheel. I love to pray for the people running along the sidewalk in the chilly air, when I know that hill must be tough and I admire their dedication. There is something about watching other people that teaches me about who I am and how it would feel to be someone else. What matters to me as I’m sitting at the red light is that I am a part of the things around me.

I am fascinated by the way we intercept one another. The photo of your dinner is now being re-pinned by someone who only intends to make toast tomorrow. The girl you flirted with at the library today is your future wife. The hopeful song in your headphones as you walk home from school is the same one your professor will sing along to this weekend as he drives to visit his children in another city. Your quarters are sitting in a vending machine right now with someone’s golden dollar they saved in their wallet for years before they just got really hungry and spent it on some M&M’s today. That loose change will later become some college student’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburger when her roommate insists on getting out of the apartment because she’s heartbroken over the boy that used to flirt with her at the library. Your shoes are stuck to a graduate’s gum that they spit out while walking their dog, because the flavor was fading and they needed to speak to their boss on the phone without sounding like a commonplace gum-chewer that walks their dog in the middle of the afternoon. Your second-hand reindeer sweater that you bought at Goodwill for the Tacky Christmas Party last year was carefully made by a homemaker of the 90’s. She got those jingling bells on sale at Michael’s and sewed each one on carefully so her mother could have something pretty to wear to the family party on her last Christmas Eve. For fifteen years after her mother passed, that sweater set dormant in the homemaker’s closet, and was finally cast into the donate box by an ignorant, well-meaning daughter. Now it’s been immortalized on your facebook page, mocked for how ridiculous you and your friends think it looks.

This is not an attack on themed parties. This is just me wondering about real life. I know we are all part of the story.  I know we are and I feel it so much as I watch it all go by me. I wonder: How do I fit into all of that? I’m shivering here in the computer lab, wondering how all these people around me are doing. What are they thinking about as they sign-in to identical computer screens? Am I un-knowingly following them on pinterest? Do they eat toast on their way to school? When was the last time they resigned to rest their heads on the steering wheel at a red light?