It's been a few days. I started a book study...something to do with emotional health. I'm glad I get to do it with the people I get to do it with, but it's not what I would've chosen to read for myself. Maybe that's a good thing though.
Anyway, I've had a lot on my mind lately. I feel as though there's literally a ginormous block of hickory wood balanced on my head. It hurts mostly at night, when I am laying down, and there's nothing to support my neck. At least it smells good.
Something different...I've been dealing with this love-hate relationship between me and polka-dots. Sometimes I really get them. They are so great, and I want them all around me. But most of the time they are annoying and I need to escape them, but I can't. They are in everything, if you look close enough. And I do.
Do you ever feel like you live your life as though someone were writing it? All of my thoughts have tag lines, it read this out loud, or better yet think it:
She thought to herself, "I wonder which way is faster?" and then she took the left sidewalk, because she hadn't taken it before.
That is how I think. So maybe I should become a writer. Maybe that is how writers think. But maybe not. Maybe I am just a little strange, a little weird. The best part is when I listen to my ipod and my personal theme music swells as I make my decision to take a new path. And although I'm surrounded by people, not one of them has a clue.