This is the earliest I’ve written one of these blurbs on life. I don’t even know why I write these, really, considering they border on journal entries. Speaking of which, I have space for about one more entry and then I can start using my new leather-bound journal. I’ve found myself writing on odd little surfaces recently. During church on Sunday I wrote notes on two offering/tithe envelopes.
I feel like curling up with a good book—or maybe with that leather-bound journal and a pen. I had my last Government 1 class today, all I have left is studying and the final. I just finished a peanut butter and nutella fold-over/mini sandwich (the bread was crumbly and not conducive to spreading or folding). I have a cup of hot chocolate. It’s snowing with the consistency of a good rain; the ground and sky are nearly indiscernible, like a herd of zebras. I’m wearing two sweaters and a pair socks made with love and great care that are three sizes too big. I’m beginning to feel like I belong here. The greens and whites, browns and grays are enveloping me like an old quilt that used to belong to your great-grandmother. It’s foreign because it’s from before my time and yours, but it smells familiar, like a kitchen full of freshly baked cookies and bread, your mother’s perfume, cut grass in the summertime, the chlorine that sticks in your hair after a swim, or the feel of the worn binding of your favorite book in your hands. That’s how I’m beginning to feel, like I’m comfortable and worn-in. Sometimes I’m stiff like a new pair of shoes that you’ve worn for an hour too long. Sometimes I can feel blisters forming when I’ve worn the shoes for several hours past when I should’ve taken them off. But I’m beginning to feel comfortable in my own skin like a pair of old, worn jeans. We all have our good and bad days, after all.
Today is a good day. I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be good.
No comments:
Post a Comment