The sound

I love the way the sound of rain hits. Slow at first, like the beginning of a marathon race, but then it catches itself. The feet of a thousand stomping away at the dust on the Earth. And then it backs off again, letting the fastest fall the hardest. The rest fall lightly. A win may blow, Pushing the delicate drops down to the ground harder. But its all a part of the race. Thus creating the sound of rain.

As I sit

As I sit out here on the front porch, coffee cup in my hand and wearing sweats and my fuzziest north face, I quietly thank God for days like these. Chilly. Damp. Quiet. Foggy. Only the slight chirp of a bird to let me know I'm not the only thing here. And in this moment, I am happy. Peaceful. Satisfied to the core. What a beautiful Sunday.

Anxiety.

Hell Hath No Fury Like Anxiety On Earth.

and maybe that's a bold statement, but seriously- talk about stress a girl out. I can't handle the ups and downs and highs and lows and judgement and sacrifice and hurt and guilt and pain,
and this is starting to sound like something out of the Bible -
I guess everything Does in fact go back to that, but still yet, it's not what I'm talking about.

My life is a headache.

Haven't

Blogged in awhile. I guess it's my journal too. So I haven't fulfilled my duties lately.

I love

These pillows of Kayses. They feel like a soft puppy. Which may seem morbid? To have a soft puppy pillow? But it's not really a puppy. It's just soft. And I love it.


I look like Santa.

I hate when you cry

In the car. Especially in the summer. Because as your tears stream down your face, your air conditioner damn near freezes them against your cheeks.

I hate when I cry most ever time, but I especially hate it in the car. With the AC on.

Feet.

I'm walking with my head down today. Not because I'm sad, or lonely or wallowing in self pity just begging for a bully to pick on me, no. Simply because I'm watching. I'm watching feet. Some (most) people are disgusted with feet. Their stench, and their dry, cracked skin is a flaw on the body. But I'm watching feet because I'm fascinated by them. Enthralled by them. How some point in. How some point out. How fast they move how hard the stomp. How lightly they tip toe. How they make flips-flop. How some are disproportionate in that awkward stage of being a teenager. I love feet. I love the stories they tell. Where have they been? What have they tread on?