4 pictures

Writing on this is awesome. It's so therapeutic. Some things are just too mundane or too over-spoken about, so i just write it here. I guess I should share a little about myself. I am not really writing to anyone, & I'm not sure who will listen...but whenever you stumble across this public journal, you'll learn I wasn't such a stranger. I feel like posting pictures, too. Maybe I'll just post a few random pictures I can find that describe me. If that's possible.

I love lightning storms. Love it. Some people could fall asleep to the ocean waves crashing down around them. I want a lightning storm. Every night. It's so devilishly beautiful. It's angry and loud and brilliant. This picture just makes me want to lie down in a creepy desert and watch the lightning. I love creepy stuff like that. We need more here in California. They just don't exist.

in-n-out. If I have to explain, then you don't deserve to read this section. I could quite literally eat this everyday. That is probably not flattering at all, and I promise I am not disgustingly unhealthy. But let's just say, if I had to eat a burger, fries, and strawberry shake once a day, I would not be unhappy. Until of course, they are wheeling my half ton body into the restaurant. But that's what drive-thrus are for, right?

Jim from The Office. Just..anything John Krasinski actually. I am so proud of him for being hilarious, cute, and sweet in real life. ugh, he is my dream. It's actually kind of depressing. It's kind of unexplainable. My love for him cannot be expressed. Only felt. One day his inevitable celebrity divorce will take place and he will find me.

Cities. I am a city girl. I think. I can actually live in many places. Including a beach house, a penthouse apartment, a gorgeous cabin in the mountains, and a plantation house in the south. I want to live everywhere. But i love big cities. As nasty as it is, I even like Vegas. I like driving through it at night. It is just bright and busy and alive.

Coming Home

So I have just come back from my first term at Brigham Young University. Actually, I've been home for 3 hours and 50 minutes...but who is really counting anyway? I am excited to be back and see my friends (trust me, I already got a huge awakening from my family on the 10 hour drive home. Nothing has changed. Which is good..right?) I'm excited to be in a place without finals and not in a cramped dorm. I'm excited to have my mom's cooking, and excited to do laundry for free. I'm excited to be around people I know..and to not be around the overly exuberant, happy blondes with perfect smiles. I'm sorry, I am a happy girl. Trust me. I just express myself in different ways. I am excited to come back to a place that I know.

I am however, not excited to come to a home without my room.

I love my room. I'm not sure how other people feel about their rooms, but I am in love with mine. It's painted red and has a walk-in closet and a bathroom (every girl's dream). It has a desk with a bulletin board, that is usually covered in magazine clippings of John Krasinski and notes from my friends. It has a queen bed that once was beneath a canopy (another dream fulfilled) and layered with a giant down comforter and pillows. I love that bed. We were a perfect fit. The saddest part of leaving was packing that room full of memories, closing the door, and walking out. I was leaving the only part of my house that was mine...and would never be mine again. I grew up in that room.

I didn't even feel like I was coming home. It was weird. I know I belong here more than anywhere else, but I still feel like I have no place in my home. Life goes on.  There's still hustle and bustle with all 4 kids left in the group. Nothing stops. And that's how it should be. I feel comfortable and happy here. It's just that I still haven't felt my graduation hit me, or that I live in a different state. I feel like I've been at summer camp for 8 weeks, and here is my break.

One day I'll fit in perfectly, and have my queen bed back. Life is great, and college is better. And now it's great to be back.