to be perfectly and completely honest i am done here. i feel like summer has begun and i should not be found anywhere near chicago.
i went to the lake on saturday - it was very hard to be so near water but not actually in water. rachel and paul come to visit this weekend - we relived our memory of when they came to visit in the bahamas and we all went shark fishing. i wish i had a scar on my hand from the jaws of a shark.
it's getting easier to talk about the bahamas but now i feel like the memories i tell sound make believe.
i am slowly going to start to move out of this apartment. i have already moved out in my heart - now it's just getting all the stuff out of here.
i feel like it's a time of change...but the change isn't coming fast enough. i know it's coming - something is going to happen but i don't know how or in what form.
martha is home again - i love this - i feel like i get to see her. she can give me hair touch ups - i really just love layers and make monster cookies and tell mom when i am hurt even if i don't want to talk about it and tell me that i'm acting like i rebellious child named isabella when i really am.
one of my students said the other day "ms. jardine your hair keeps getting messier and messier." to which from across the room comes the yell of another " yeah, it's called bedhead...."
do you have a friend that just makes you think " i really have to live this life a little better." i was by one this weekend. so i'm going to start. and my living this life a little better might look a little differently then your going to live this life a little better but i think it's recognizable when it's seen in someones life.
i don't buy " i'm in a bad spot right now." then get out.
i have always wanted a gently spirit - i don't have one. but i think that i would like to surround myself with those kind of people. they seem to make this world a little more beautiful.
joshua radin's voice is like a warm breeze on a summer night. i dig him and his guitar. i have always been a sucker for a man with a guitar.
