tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42398876698867599142024-02-06T21:04:25.201-08:00Benched.This is a blog comprised of thoughts that I've had while sitting, or as a result of sitting somewhere. I guess you could say that it all started with being "benched."Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-21968724038143736632013-06-29T20:30:00.003-07:002013-06-29T20:31:51.106-07:00Benched and Awake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATY72NcHzFGr5-5X91O1FkIRE5P2CqowBaQoQg8xXt6fPk_RxB7e8Gz1nfT8cwyyu-ah2giCLYgWL51WFHqAkQWSJW8heR65PKJEVzP5WgY2wtKqmmWDn_KepnBurVjrinLA8FduVNDI/s1600/P2210435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATY72NcHzFGr5-5X91O1FkIRE5P2CqowBaQoQg8xXt6fPk_RxB7e8Gz1nfT8cwyyu-ah2giCLYgWL51WFHqAkQWSJW8heR65PKJEVzP5WgY2wtKqmmWDn_KepnBurVjrinLA8FduVNDI/s320/P2210435.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">You know those days that seem brighter than all the rest? </span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">There are days when I take a walk, and everything has a
certain sheen. It’s as if the world is jumping from it’s casing, pricking me on
the skin, and making me aware of everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My senses are heightened, and my mind sharper as life begs me to
drink it all in. I already notice everything, but on days like these my
attention to detail has intensified. I am awake.</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">On days like these, I might finish my walk, and go into town
on an errand. As I brush passed strangers, they are no longer a haze, but a
chasm of individual stories and happenings. Each person has a face, and each
person has a story. As I fill my basket at the grocery store with odds and
ends, necessities and indulgences, I might notice a mother and her toddler.
I’ll begin to study her face, as well as her little daughter’s. There’s a
vacant routine being followed, evidenced by small wrinkles barely visible,
furrowing the mother’s brow. I might linger on her story as I proceed to the
checkout line. There I’ll switch my focus to the cashier, a perhaps middle-aged
woman with no ring on her left-hand ring finger. As I leave, I might compliment
her necklace and flash her a smile infused with all the sincerity a stranger’s
smile could convey.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I proceed this way for the remainder of the day. The air is
still tangible, the trees alive, everything with a purpose. On days like these,
I observe. Something has pulled me from the opaque glass that often blankets my
world. Often I amble through, very much in my own head, with life intricacies
buzzing, and sometimes shouting through my head. Shouting things that don’t
matter. Shouting things that shouldn’t be taking up the majority of my
thoughts, or any of my time at all. -Things that distract me and from what’s
going on around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself
yearning for, and missing the world. My awareness is savored on these “awake”
days, if I’m lucky enough for it to last an entire day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">-Because eventually days end, and I sleep. I wake with the
nagging thoughts of the trivialities of daily life, plunging me back to that
opaque world with rhythmic, methodical blows. But, as with most things, the
unnatural “awake” days can become more frequent than infrequent with practice.
I’m learning to quiet my unsettled thoughts and worries, and to set them aside
in a useless room in my brain. I don’t appreciate when others nag me, so why do
I allow MYSELF to nag me? I’ve found, that as I’ve sent my nagging thoughts to
their own room in my brain, that I’ve made room to notice. I’ve tried to clear
my head. I’m trying to notice. I’m trying to stay awake.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></span>Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-53643635409248299282013-05-27T21:56:00.002-07:002013-05-27T21:58:22.893-07:00He Offered Me His Pillow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYfq9T0Apay4tqFE_pKohK6M810zJNensVRLyFCy5QI3hJvsYYj1OaR_3kC-becSWFa2M5kWqoO8P_i5pWgV21QAuefjMcjLNBtwDPlsTtQvSvlMbG_8-ZDqLXvd2PeAY26013SIAIcs/s1600/IMG_0314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYfq9T0Apay4tqFE_pKohK6M810zJNensVRLyFCy5QI3hJvsYYj1OaR_3kC-becSWFa2M5kWqoO8P_i5pWgV21QAuefjMcjLNBtwDPlsTtQvSvlMbG_8-ZDqLXvd2PeAY26013SIAIcs/s320/IMG_0314.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">It can be the smallest kind gesture from a stranger when you feel like you're about to break. When life weighs down your spirit and your heart. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">It was only a pillow.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> I pulled down my tray table and hunched over about to fall asleep. This would be a long flight.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> "Would you like my pillow?" -He was asking genuinely. I don't know this guy, and he doesn't know me, yet he offered me the only assistance he had available. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> Could he feel my listlessness? Could he sense the storms inside of my soul? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">He offered me his pillow.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> It was as if he'd offered an umbrella for me to use as I waited for my private storms to subside.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> He wasn't the only one.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I'm in the middle seat with strangers on either side of me. Pillow guy to my right, and blanket guy to my left. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">He offered me his blanket.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> "Would you like my blanket?" He asked.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I gratefully declined, like I do with everyone else's help.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> Another kindness.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> When I boarded this flight, confusion, doubt, and traces of sadness and regret swirled through my body, overwhelming my thoughts and bruising my heart. I began to sift through the causes of my anxieties, mapping out the resolutions, one facet at a time.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> I prayed to my ever patient Father in Heaven, consulting Him, and allowing peace to replace the fears that were flowing through my veins.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> This is when I pulled down that tray table, hunched over, waiting for lucid sleep to take me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">He offered me his pillow.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">He offered me his blanket.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> Standing in my own personal raging storm, these strangers, along with the promise of peace from my Heavenly Father, have equipped me with an umbrella and a coat, some comfort.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">It was just a pillow.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">It was only a blanket offered from two strangers on a plane.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> But it made all the difference.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"> I think the sun will come out soon.</span><br />
<br />Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-4602065111584767492013-01-30T20:16:00.000-08:002013-01-30T20:17:12.582-08:00Benched in the Wind<!--StartFragment-->
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFr77_MgLmIZh6ESmz0CcTJPEsfP2XhzI9qZagnYLBlZvdbwoL3BgkrvWZaR-kwhZ5Fu5yvw-a5Mb6CTcIdVqkbC6ZyIZ_iUMBzw2S2rhCOpJDeMH9kqd09TarYBWKUWDd8gfrrwZCIY/s1600/IMG_9124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFr77_MgLmIZh6ESmz0CcTJPEsfP2XhzI9qZagnYLBlZvdbwoL3BgkrvWZaR-kwhZ5Fu5yvw-a5Mb6CTcIdVqkbC6ZyIZ_iUMBzw2S2rhCOpJDeMH9kqd09TarYBWKUWDd8gfrrwZCIY/s320/IMG_9124.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">It was 73 degrees in North Carolina today with a wind advisory. The unseasonable warmth and the strong wind around makes me
wistful...</span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Maybe they saw you and you didn’t see them, or maybe it was
the other way around. Maybe you missed each other by only an inch and meandered
in every direction except the one that would lead you to each other. Or maybe
your paths wound in such a way where you brushed passed each other for just a
moment, caressing your skin at the touch. The twinge made you pause, but you
were too caught in the current to exude the effort to let the moment linger, or
gather any significance from the experience. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be
stayed. Perhaps the wind was warm, causing your back to coil and your toes to
flex with each goose bump. But maybe the wind was cold, and icy, making you
cringe and shy away. Why didn’t you stay when the wind was warm, and the sun
came out from behind the clouds that day? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">The wind is an interesting creature. It likes to be gentle,
slow and free. It likes to breathe, and see everything. It likes to be carried
by its whims, and jostle things slightly in its paths. It tries to run from
storms, but often get stuck in them. Sometimes it’s pleasant, at times
uncomfortable. Sometimes it nudges us to directions we hadn’t planned on
veering. Sometimes it knocks us off balance, and we have to pick ourselves up,
or be humble enough to allow someone to pull us off the ground. Sometimes we
get caught in the wind, and continue to jaunt from place to place, never
settling on anything, anyone, or anywhere in particular. <br /><br />
I’m caught in the wind. Perhaps it’s time the wind brought me somewhere to
stay. Perhaps it’s time the wind and I took a little break.</span>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-35630228715450080402012-11-25T20:35:00.002-08:002013-01-30T20:17:54.307-08:00Benched in Reverie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_kUi56ttIO86JR7deprCGv0KgFsZUUUGymWZys0HC-BqvQMq5NF6_zEmxplW7mKS7vXiqBCz3cIgcw3ht8Xf-2AYq0g5I2lJ5fJMselyJsxL1JK-I5tKM-6ve-wMWio-aFhq9_w7Yww/s1600/IMG_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_kUi56ttIO86JR7deprCGv0KgFsZUUUGymWZys0HC-BqvQMq5NF6_zEmxplW7mKS7vXiqBCz3cIgcw3ht8Xf-2AYq0g5I2lJ5fJMselyJsxL1JK-I5tKM-6ve-wMWio-aFhq9_w7Yww/s320/IMG_0308.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Reverie</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br />
</span><!--StartFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I lay in bed and close my eyes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">That’s when you flood my thoughts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">No matter how I try to fight,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I see a picture taken from the first night our paths crossed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I try to remember where your hands were</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Those hands that since held mine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Those same hands that pulled me closer</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">When I woke up scared that night. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I can still see the glint in your stare</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">That forever claimed me yours.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">That captivation held me there</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">And made me want you more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Fleeting glances</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Lost romances</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">And love that cannot be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Star-crossed dances</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Second chances</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">My pain in reverie.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">When you close your eyes,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Is that what you see?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I’m sure you do not dream of me.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-71152522448320505062012-08-30T11:32:00.002-07:002012-08-30T11:33:24.966-07:00Benched in the Mirror<!--StartFragment-->
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhti1LaVCwUJJYMJ84y9YQILE_P_A2VVV7A9W6w1kYu2b0hUgI3hrpxSDfU7kbQVeApSFVP-y4ak47SEUJPzu-bQ-Wbrwpa2_xV9jObgZgsz-W19ehXCHABOJwy5NhZstPw8fiZoRkS6nE/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhti1LaVCwUJJYMJ84y9YQILE_P_A2VVV7A9W6w1kYu2b0hUgI3hrpxSDfU7kbQVeApSFVP-y4ak47SEUJPzu-bQ-Wbrwpa2_xV9jObgZgsz-W19ehXCHABOJwy5NhZstPw8fiZoRkS6nE/s320/2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Short, blondish highlighted hair. Green eyes today. Long
shadows cast from the window to shade the right side of my face. Smeared makeup
from the tire of the day. Epiphany.</span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">There are times in my life where I get so caught up in triviality.
I go, go, go, and push so hard through my trials or the things I’m trying to
accomplish. Everything feels noisy while I’m caught in this havocked
momentum until finally: everything stops. I barrel through my circumstances and
try so hard until something intervenes to make me stop and think. I hit a brick
wall, or in my case, a mirror.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I picture myself sitting in a large, soundproof room with
nothing in it except a full-length mirror. Whispers of recent events flash from
my memory of those times when I’ve tried to be enough for people. I notice a
worry line begin to reveal itself in my brow from the realization of how hard
I’ve been trying to please everyone. Helplessness and wasted efforts seep from
my eyes in the form of quiet, gentle tears. Awareness washes over me in hot
waves that I will never be enough for everyone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">The wave recedes, leaving me with sharpened senses and an
awakened freedom from this new knowledge. Of course I will never be enough for
everyone! I’ve spent the last two years trying so hard to please someone who
never wanted to be pleased by me in the first place. It’s not easy to put so
much into an investment for it to turn out unrequited, but it's impossible to please everyone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">At the end of the day though, I’m left in this ‘room.’ I’m
left with only my own reflection, and God to answer to. Of course I’m still
going to try as hard as I can to do right by people and be the best person I
can be, but no longer will I be shackled and bound by my need to be “enough.”
At the end of the day, I am a daughter of God. I love my family and my friends.
I have the desire to improve and progress in my life and for the first time in
years I’ve realized: that is enough. I am enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Thank you, mirror.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-48969007348332901402012-03-21T18:00:00.006-07:002012-03-21T18:19:28.368-07:00Benched in Bliss.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-qR5A_yHzAIGwvTe1BLwZfR_OjPF7acWEC3jEylp4wMkWm8jzPyD1v8fb6z6wGcqQn9YcLOHCjRBp29EPV6-FLl7G1-xvn86GpS_XplRv7Vgf9TcUPc1awS_axHD-yWL7W2MMsjO3Zw/s1600/279.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-qR5A_yHzAIGwvTe1BLwZfR_OjPF7acWEC3jEylp4wMkWm8jzPyD1v8fb6z6wGcqQn9YcLOHCjRBp29EPV6-FLl7G1-xvn86GpS_XplRv7Vgf9TcUPc1awS_axHD-yWL7W2MMsjO3Zw/s320/279.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722521231726136114" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Have you ever just felt completely liberated? At peace? With “a perfect brightness of hope?” That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling for the past few days. I feel SO good.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I’ve mapped out exactly every assignment I need to do, and when I need to do them. I found a ride to L.A. for a fraction of the cost that I was anticipating. I’m at a point in the semester when I’m actually going to have time to exercise daily. Even though I do have a ton of assignments to do and eleven more novels to read, I feel so at peace. For the first time in the past few months I feel like I can step back, look at my future, and breathe easy.</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I know none of these things are just occurring out of happenstance. I’ve increased my scripture reading, and am trying to make more time for the Lord. I’ve also been able to feel the blessings from going to the temple weekly, even if I just go there to have more focused prayers. </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Most of the semester I’ve felt so stressed and down that I haven’t made enough time for what was most important. The difference is stark.</span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Anyway, I’m so excited to be coming home in a few weeks. As much as I’ve enjoyed BYU-Idaho, I’ve really missed North Carolina. A big part of that was the weather, I can admit, and I also know that I chose the worst semester to attend Idaho, but I was just way too cold here haha. The weather has been way nicer here, and I'm sure that's contributed to my uplifted spirits. I've actually heard a bird or two, and seen a few bugs haha.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I hope everyone is having as optimistic of a day as I am! Breathe easy, people.</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-13817060129180974102012-01-22T23:07:00.001-08:002012-01-22T23:36:02.955-08:00Benched in the Tundra<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHW_i2_2vz7kH44dnUjo1pYHpLt37HYH6g71oY63xuz-EktGgFUgBNx2cW_PyUMOFypffFhZV3XpISmbWFHbLIl-0fpPnOH7VWGrK7eTe7IRS0EewCFdPk5tdhTz8KA61bE8QSQ2BPlFE/s1600/PC180532.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHW_i2_2vz7kH44dnUjo1pYHpLt37HYH6g71oY63xuz-EktGgFUgBNx2cW_PyUMOFypffFhZV3XpISmbWFHbLIl-0fpPnOH7VWGrK7eTe7IRS0EewCFdPk5tdhTz8KA61bE8QSQ2BPlFE/s320/PC180532.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700723774550548802" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I should be seeping happiness from every pore of my body for this welcome change of scenery. I should be reveling in the amazing acquaintances I’ve made here, and I am, to a degree, but I find my temperament elsewhere. Instead of dancing in the cold drizzle or snow, I seem to get lost in the haze. Rather than being liberated by the surrounding beauty, I simply note the splendor and return to the dread of the impending week of assignments and duty. I’m hoping that I’m not falling into some kind of dismal longing and that I’m just having a little cabin fever.<br /><br />I do really like it here. There’s always some social gathering going on, where one is sure to make dozens of new acquaintances, with ample doses of small talk for any human to endure..I mean enjoy. There are down to earth people to hang out with, and ridiculous people and couples to watch. My classes are informative, and not too overwhelming if I would buckle down and get ahead of my assignments. I have incredible roommates, and the campus does have a great spirit.<br /><br />I do crave the sun though. I’m honestly having trouble trucking through school right now. I have some serious wanderlust issues, and I have to exert incredible will power to do the simplest of school assignments. I just want to be done with school! I’ve also found that being thousands of miles away doesn’t solve as much as I hoped it would. Suppressing issues rather than fixing them only amplifies them for a later explosion, and leaves you with those moments of seeping ache that sneak up on you at the most inopportune times. Then again, when is ache ever opportune? How does one solve the unsolvable though? At the moment I seem to be just riding out the storm hoping that when it’s all over I still have my fundamental body parts intact. I feel like I’m in the eye of the storm, and that at any moment it could all come crashing down. Thankfully, God does not fail, so if I try to do what He wants me to, then I can’t fail either. To think otherwise is only a lack of faith, and that’s something that I can’t afford right now. Sometimes only He can calm the storms in our hearts. I cling onto that knowledge. There are some things that come to us only through gifts: miracles. Miracles are things that come to us when we can’t accomplish them by our own efforts. It’s going to take a miracle for this storm to clear, and I know that God has the power to help me do it. In the meantime, I’m going to try to enjoy the scenery, and the people, and the small talk, and the cold slush.<br /><br />“Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed, <br />For I am thy God, and will still give thee aid; <br />I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, <br />Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.”<br />-How Firm A Foundation</span></span>Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-5043171619288094222011-11-19T17:57:00.000-08:002011-11-19T18:11:20.185-08:00Benched in Substitution<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPiDaSa7vw7IzSNaYounOWM7pHUNlTWEUI47k0sXqLGftuBJFgBcpy8MGHYDikgsENrw_eEtHzJCzVtO-JcmdBLLrEhCtR2WWRtIxplz0lLi2wW4phb_QDlqdwHSa_uitSfPoCKAiufY/s1600/291.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPiDaSa7vw7IzSNaYounOWM7pHUNlTWEUI47k0sXqLGftuBJFgBcpy8MGHYDikgsENrw_eEtHzJCzVtO-JcmdBLLrEhCtR2WWRtIxplz0lLi2wW4phb_QDlqdwHSa_uitSfPoCKAiufY/s320/291.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676892235695510114" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’m babysitting. Before the parents stepped out to be able to breathe for a minute and enjoy a glimpse of their pre-children married lives, I asked the usual questions about bedtime routines, etc. The pair left, and I, as I often do, played the role of the substitute. The kids were angels, and didn’t play any of the age-old “but my mom lets us…” tricks. The 24-month old little boy snuggled right up to me in a cozy patchwork blanket as we watched the end of Toy Story 3. The two girls prattled around, offering me make-believe plates of pizza and grilled cheese because they were being waitresses. The pizza was delicious.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> When it was time for bed, we brushed teeth and read stories. Bedtime can sometimes be a dramatic event, but this one went rather smoothly. The lights were out and kids were in bed by 8 p.m. Now I sit.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I don’t feel like watching T.V. so I’m left with the unavoidable bad idea that is my brain. Yes, thinking can be a bad idea. When people have too much time on their hands, they’re left to their own device of thinking. When people have nothing better to do than to dwell on their own lives and happenings, it makes things seem far more dramatic and amplified.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> For instance, I’m stuck thinking about the limbo I’ve been caught in for over a year. Loving someone, but knowing I shouldn’t, and trying to move on when nothing seems to be able to quite fill that space. I can’t seem to shake it, no matter how many times I change locations, or hobbies. No matter how many new amazing friends I make, somehow I feel like no one will ever be the same. I’ll admit, that way of thinking seems severely absolutist and extreme, but like I said, I’m just feeding and augmenting my situation by thinking about it too much. I can readily confess that is a big part of mine, and a lot of other people’s problem.</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I’m not one to over-think things. I definitely analyze anything, everything, and everyone, but not over-think.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’ve never been one to be consumed in my own issues, chanting, “woe is me” to myself. I’ve always felt bad for those people, because if they just got a hobby or stopped being so self-consumed, things wouldn’t seem so bad! Not to minimize people’s problems, which are often very real, but attitude makes a huge difference. Dwelling just adds fuel to the fire. Pick yourself up, remember the good, and move on with life. I keep telling myself:</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Search diligently, pray always and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good…” D&C 90:24. Or, “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">his</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> purpose.” Romans 8:28</span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As I sit on this sectional couch, listening only to the sound of the ticking of the clock and my fingers on this keyboard, I’m not going to let myself dwell. Dwelling doesn’t fix the problems. In fact, dwelling frustrates things and makes them seem worse and more complicated than they really are. Instead of thinking about how impossible situations are or seem, I’m going to remember that if I try to be the best person I can be, then everything will be as it should. Things have a way of working out. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Just some thoughts. C:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> By the way, the weather was stunning today, and on a completely different note, I got to clean the Temple today. This is the second time that I've had the opportunity to do this, and I really do see it as a blessing. I find it kind of humbling to be able to clean the Lord's house. </span></span></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-10332702677474348562011-09-29T10:19:00.000-07:002011-09-29T10:32:17.228-07:00Benched with the Moroccan Frenchman<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaNcnzykwC3or8D6MR9mFUjgX6T-LvQqMlEkwBGpNnQNCHStvDzMsj6ADGDqxgDvSVWYxBizsU7a0rJrY52kErsgQs4rn1Icj2I_a02m3iXHsCmKUaLZMaFzk_qS9RPWlD3K3jCdaokY/s1600/P2210429.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaNcnzykwC3or8D6MR9mFUjgX6T-LvQqMlEkwBGpNnQNCHStvDzMsj6ADGDqxgDvSVWYxBizsU7a0rJrY52kErsgQs4rn1Icj2I_a02m3iXHsCmKUaLZMaFzk_qS9RPWlD3K3jCdaokY/s320/P2210429.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657833793341587042" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I walked into the student center at Wake Tech today to get my six-inch turkey, spinach, tomato, and provolone sandwich on wheat. As I walked into the building, this guy stopped mid-stride to blatantly stare at me in the face. I stared back, with a waiting expression on my face as if to say, “May I help you?” He opened his mouth a little before speaking and then said in an untraceable accent, “You look so innocent.” I couldn’t help but be floored. The only thing that I could think to say was “Thank you?” I asked for his name, and then told him that it was good to meet him. I parted ways with him and continued into the cafeteria area to get my sandwich. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">After getting my sandwich and the two cookies that I’d splurged on, I made my way back out of the student center and headed to a little shady spot outside. As I was leaving, I was met by none other than my new foreign acquaintance. As he quickened his pace to meet mine, I greeted him saying, “Hello, again.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">“I’m sorry, I just had to talk to you some more,” he replied. I told him that it was all right with me, and invited him to sit on my brick wall with me. We made casual conversation for a little while, where I found out that he was from Morocco and France, which puzzled me some. He informed me that he already had a teaching degree in math, but that he was going back to school to become an engineer. He asked about me, and I prattled on about my ambitions and goals. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">After some small talk, he made his same gawking expression at me. I didn’t understand. I asked what the matter was, and he said, “No, it’s just that you look so innocent.” I sat there with a tight, knowing smile, because I’ve actually gotten this same description before. I don’t see it though. I went on to explain that I had gotten that before, and that it was somewhat accurate when comparing me to the rest of the world. I told him that I don’t drink or smoke, and he laughed this little laugh. He told me that he didn’t either, and commented on how interesting it was that he could see that about me at first glance. I told him that it was weird for him to notice that too, because most people don’t take the time to notice anything really, because they are too absorbed in their own worlds and heads to notice anything that doesn’t involve them. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">We continued in conversation for a few more minutes, and then I had to excuse myself to go prepare for a test that I had the next hour. I told him that it was nice to meet him, and started to leave. He stopped me and asked if he could have my number, because he’d really like to talk to me again. Though I wasn’t interested in him in the way that would warrant giving someone a phone number, I couldn’t think of any objections, so I gave it to him. It was one of those chance meetings of a stranger that makes you feel more connected to the world. I like it when routine is broken by something unexpected, especially when making new, unlikely acquaintances. </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-34086533453077190382011-09-28T11:11:00.000-07:002011-09-28T11:33:37.889-07:00Benched in Italy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAT-HnmND-XD_0wXh89a1jAEf0uGjtemH3qoBuiqIvViJPfcsM6P2lcBpg4ubIRWxQqB9IDhJ9yRc9nXoK_Hmpu_hbSHEb7AaidzC78SZZs-y_-lwUJC9DMPQf_M32QNkCJu700QlIByY/s1600/P3050229.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAT-HnmND-XD_0wXh89a1jAEf0uGjtemH3qoBuiqIvViJPfcsM6P2lcBpg4ubIRWxQqB9IDhJ9yRc9nXoK_Hmpu_hbSHEb7AaidzC78SZZs-y_-lwUJC9DMPQf_M32QNkCJu700QlIByY/s320/P3050229.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657476305530459586" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">One would think that when she arrived in an Italian restaurant, that she’d be welcomed by a whirl of appetizing aromas, but she’d be wrong. When I stepped into this stereotypical Olive Garden, for some reason all I could smell was dirty diapers. Still, even after being seated, that’s all I can smell. I hope my sensory adaptation kicks in soon before my food arrives. No one else seems to notice the smell though, and I promise it’s not me, haha.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>As I said, I’m at Olive Garden, but I don't think I mentioned that I am here unaccompanied. No, I didn’t get stood up for a date. No, I didn’t try to invite anyone to come with me, and yes, I could have gotten any number of friends to come with me, but no, I don’t feel lonely here at all. It feels so good to enjoy a solitary meal every now and then. I never thought that I'd be one of those people who could go to a movie alone, which I still haven't done, or to eat at a restaurant alone, but I've come to not mind eating alone at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love people, but it’s so nice not to have to keep up a conversation, or worry about talking with my mouth full in order to be appropriately invested in whatever topic that would be taking place. It's nice to just be able to, be. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Also, my salad just came out, which means that I get to leave the olives, purple cabbage, and peppers in the bowl, and I can steal all of the tomatoes I want. If I were here with anyone, I would have to be polite, and unselectively take my share of the salad, but I don't have to worry about that today. This all sounds very selfish now that I think about it, but it’s a savored rarity. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Right now, I’m watching all of these people around me put cheese, on their cheese. “Would you like some cheese on your alfredo?” –Isn’t that just a little redundant? –Also, I can’t smell the diapers anymore. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>So now I’m eating the soup that I tried to replicate from scratch a few weeks ago. I like theirs better still, but I can’t figure out why. Maybe I’ll try again. Also, I swear I just blinked and now my soup is gone. Funny how that happens. In case you’re wondering, I ordered the Chicken Florentine Panini and Chicken Gnocchi soup with salad. I’m eating it all. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I really don’t have anything profound to say, I just feel like writing.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Ah, I see a little older lady in her late sixties who’s just been seated, all by herself. She walked in purse on arm, book in hand, wearing a pleasant, placid smile on her face. I glanced to her left hand and noticed that there was a ring on her ring finger. It seems that I’m not the only one who enjoys a solitary meal every now and again. :)</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-91841970306214169022011-09-21T19:03:00.000-07:002011-09-21T19:13:23.755-07:00Benched with the Storm<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjGNGypoOKrooqn12lTFJKyH9mxQjOW2ueFba7UnQn8q3aLtIVB9ZPFnmlWfZf3tPHksLSTwRkIIaLtMA6Lu6w7Um77i19ln3wzu2Mz915RzKMLK7doPHblvrtQ73NhNr0V10Z28rmBo/s1600/P2210438.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjGNGypoOKrooqn12lTFJKyH9mxQjOW2ueFba7UnQn8q3aLtIVB9ZPFnmlWfZf3tPHksLSTwRkIIaLtMA6Lu6w7Um77i19ln3wzu2Mz915RzKMLK7doPHblvrtQ73NhNr0V10Z28rmBo/s320/P2210438.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654999189560548674" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’m in somewhat of a rainy mood. It’s kind of that lackluster feeling that doesn’t exactly have a name. I guess you could say that it’s fueled by working all day, sleeping the majority of the evening, and the glumly refreshing opaque sky outside my window. Before deciding to not chance my luck against a thunderstorm in my rickety car, I battled the compulsion to be social somewhere and the need for temporary solitude. I opted for the later. I frequently find myself fighting that battle against myself, and I never seem to win it, haha. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As I lay in bed, every so often I’d slip in and out of consciousness, with the flashes of light and rolling of thunder in my distant awareness. It’s like someone had plugged the world I live in into an outlet, resulting in the recharging of nature’s elements as well as my sanity. I wish I could tell you that I awoke feeling electrified or reenergized, however what pulled me completely out of my lucid coma was the chime of my text message tone. If you’re like me, you sleep with your phone beside your bed. Your excuse is that “it’s your alarm,” but really it’s there for that slight lift you get when someone texts you. Maybe I’m alone in that…haha</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’m not sure if you all are aware, but almost every time I sleep, for no matter how short of a time, I dream. It’s a rare occasion that I fall asleep without dreaming. Throughout all of my dreams during my nap tonight, there was always someone in the background on the phone. Guess who’s trying to soak in all of the details of her new job? It added a frenzied edge to my dreams, which stressed me out. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Do you ever dream about work or responsibilities? It’s like I work all day, and then I dream about work, so it’s like I’m working while I’m sleeping! I really can’t complain at all; I’m lucky to have had time for a nap. I’m sure that’s a luxury that will not always be mine. It’s also especially cozy to sleep while it’s raining. All I was missing was a cuddle buddy. A person would have been nice, but I would have definitely settled for my lost blanky. RIP “Bunny Blanky.” </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I hope everyone had a great day today! I consider mine to have been quite pleasant despite this nameless mood that I seem to be in, haha. I’ll probably try to monopolize on that and try to be productive and clean the three bedrooms and the bathroom that I’ve taken over since my brother left on his mission. Goodnight!</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-48383432172959328372011-09-12T19:31:00.000-07:002011-09-12T19:49:41.956-07:00Benched on the Trail<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZnx3C4emTZ44d7a3MUP9VywQsN7EfT0Y_FfuD2sTOW1uvLd2IN3aJUjJo_cw7f3IdawquXuzh7hSejoFKst3k4fo-oMUY0scNglgVYDSHb6mw4D6af5lNckOJzTC-XJfdxebNheHOOk/s1600/293.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZnx3C4emTZ44d7a3MUP9VywQsN7EfT0Y_FfuD2sTOW1uvLd2IN3aJUjJo_cw7f3IdawquXuzh7hSejoFKst3k4fo-oMUY0scNglgVYDSHb6mw4D6af5lNckOJzTC-XJfdxebNheHOOk/s320/293.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651669152715350034" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span> </span><!--StartFragment--><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I actually wrote this quite some time ago, but I've found myself again falling into this rut of dwelling too much on the future rather than soaking in my life right now. "</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I am done with school..." "</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I get married..." "</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I can travel..." "</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I have a family..." </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It's what I'm learning while I'm getting to where I'm going that makes up life. You have to </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">become</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> before you can </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">be</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. --Just some thoughts. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Anyway, this is called, </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"The Point of Fixation."</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Traveling trails</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Telling tales</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Of paths that lead</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To what we need</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Memories reflected</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Of things neglected </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On the side of this road</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">If only we’d known</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The past is past</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So we race to find our ending</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We don’t realize we’re wasting all of our time,</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Traveling.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On we go, continuing to chase </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This dream of perfection</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Forgetting our reflection.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We try to finish the race,</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Instead of savoring our pace.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Transfixed on where we’re going</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We forget where we are.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Where are we?</span></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-26191181477236534042011-09-05T21:03:00.000-07:002011-09-06T08:17:04.161-07:00Benched at the Wedding<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0eBPSa1efoMYtxNW1_7VdpXY5yiTsrYQnn_Z37dxQgw752C_rKNuYSeIbBuq1GM8yw7fuRZy1emibMSom_70izOhyimS7faMTyo7XP005BdJIn8YfTI7POUqK08xJ9QhJO1oGjLBjyUc/s1600/P9040116.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0eBPSa1efoMYtxNW1_7VdpXY5yiTsrYQnn_Z37dxQgw752C_rKNuYSeIbBuq1GM8yw7fuRZy1emibMSom_70izOhyimS7faMTyo7XP005BdJIn8YfTI7POUqK08xJ9QhJO1oGjLBjyUc/s320/P9040116.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649100824666128082" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">So in this case, I am not actually benched at any wedding, but I was earlier swept away in somewhat of a heart-wrenching scene...</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I don't know if I'm becoming less optimistic or less naive in my perceptions of the world, especially in regards to relationships, but today my mind was flooded with the possibilities of some very harsh realities that had never occurred to me before. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">I hesitated whether to post anything at all, considering how personal all of these thoughts are, but I decided that I needed to send these thoughts into the cosmos before they continued to eat at me. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Love. Love has been described throughout the ages in all manner of ways. For all intents and purposes, I'm going to focus at first on the beautiful side of love. Love can be great if reciprocated and shown appropriately. Love can color a once gray world, and bring light to a once dim existence, blah blah, we get the picture. To be concise, love can make life worth living. Most people experience it at one point or other too. The unfathomable to me, is that people can experience it multiple times. What happens when the stars don't align for you and this love, and things don't work out? You end, and try to find something at least as great as what you had, and hope for improvements to have an even better love the next time, right?</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">What occurred to me today, was this: what happens when the person you are, or were once in love with marries another? Yes, of course this thought has frequently entered my mind before, and was just an accepted truth and inevitability in my mind, but I never actually pictured the situation or how it would actually feel. What do you do? Do you sob for days prior to and following the nuptial event? Does it hurt because you, cognizantly or not, pictured yourself possibly ending up with this person and now suddenly that's an impossibility? For lack of better terms, that would suck! That </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">will</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> suck. People don't just end up with the first person they fall in love with...which </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">sucks</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">! This must happen to almost everyone!..which sucks!</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Oh, I'm perfectly aware that we probably weren't supposed to end up with each person we've fallen in love with. I know that we learn, grow, and become better from each experience, and I'm sure we'll even end up on our knees thanking God that we didn't end up with any of those people, but it's still a dismal thought to me. I don't just go around falling in love with everyone I date, in fact it's only happened to me once, despite my efforts for it not to! Yes, I want nothing but every happiness for those whom I've been star-crossed with, but I feel like I'll be left with melancholy unrest and unsettlement. I can hear my own questions now, "I wonder how it would have been if we could have worked things out," or "I wonder if I had done more if things would have worked out," or "Would we have been happier with each other than with the ones we'll end up with?" or, "Did he just choose the one who put herself out there more?" or, "Was he scared that I'd say no if he invested too much into me?" --Granted, these are the most insecure and previously unutterable thoughts imaginable, but I know that I'll have them when this dreaded day comes! Also, what if the guy doesn't tell you before he gets engaged! That's probably how it will be, knowing men, so what do you say? "Well, it seems congratulations are in order..."</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Why have these realities never been tangible to me until now? At the moment, they seem to all but be happening tomorrow! </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Dear cosmos, though you may not even be listening, I apologize for my outrage in this post, but I am quite taken back by the light that has been shed on certain situations. Things always seem to have their way of working out, so I'm not too incredibly worried about the eminence of situations like these. I guess it's good that this has hit me now, rather than shattered me later, haha. </span></span></span></div>Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-7513799908625459942011-09-02T21:04:00.001-07:002011-09-04T14:15:11.107-07:00Benched With Age<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpkKzsoGscAHJFq_Gifpx7k92og6mvZJc60j9ZwNVVLjDbH6HCyQljDEqiNU2Wgowby7BF88licWGBFRcD73rhH2bM0gzRXcSbrOPuWnNRg2VyYBkenj2o_ZEpi_T73wiBYzolDJjue6A/s1600/PC240362.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpkKzsoGscAHJFq_Gifpx7k92og6mvZJc60j9ZwNVVLjDbH6HCyQljDEqiNU2Wgowby7BF88licWGBFRcD73rhH2bM0gzRXcSbrOPuWnNRg2VyYBkenj2o_ZEpi_T73wiBYzolDJjue6A/s320/PC240362.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647980112622262146" /></a>
<br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So I’m driving home from what was possibly the sweetest babysitting job that I’ve ever encountered. As the mile markers blur out my car window, I recount the events of the night, feeling truly blessed by it’s perfection. There’s something about looking after a truly sweet child, and those precious moments where I get to see the world through his clear eyes that makes me nostalgic and eventually critical. To speak of my experience of looking through a child’s eyes is undoubtedly a cliché, but it does not detract from the beauty of the experience. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Toddlers expect the world to be full of the things they want, and yet somehow those things are desired so unselfishly. Children have more faith than demand for what life has to offer them. They uninhibitedly laugh at what strikes them funny, and cry at times when they feel sorrow. A child seeks the happiness of everyone around them, and has no reason to believe that happiness is not perfectly attainable. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">How do we forget this purity and plainness as we age? Why do some people find it simple-minded to take joy in the little things in life? Why do we feel the need to feign a composed exterior when we’re actually feeling true sorrow? A child expects to be consoled when they’re feeling sad, but as we age, suddenly sadness is considered weakness. Heaven forbid that someone should comfort or console us when we’re upset! Granted, some things in life are too trivial to merit profuse dwelling, however sometimes I wish that we could offer each other genuine confidence. I want people to feel comfortable enough to confide in each other. I think that we just don’t trust each other enough in our interpersonal relationships to dispel that much of ourselves to each other. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Whatever the case, I admire the purity and unwavering faith of little kids and wish that we, as adults, would wear a little less of the facades that we feign. It’s okay to be there for people, and to not have to worry about keeping up appearances. People shouldn’t have to worry that someone may judge them for asking if someone else is okay. It’s okay to laugh, and it’s okay to be upset sometimes. No one will think of you any less, and those who would need to get over themselves. </span></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-46453259970578079612011-09-02T20:32:00.000-07:002011-09-02T20:33:18.610-07:00Benched at the Mall -Written March, 2011<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="margin-bottom: 20px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1; "><div><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Passers by, passers by, passers by. What are they passing by? Me, Lego, childhood, commitment, self-image, fancy meals, and the idea of perfection. Maybe they aren't passing by, perhaps they are passing through, brushing against their ideas of what could be, but not staying quite long enough to soak it in. Maybe if they had the means, or the time, they would decide to morph themselves into these things so coveted. What average, normal, oxygen-breathing human has the money to be their ideal image, or the time, or the patience? What about those anomalies, who do have the time and the means to plaster themselves into the life image they've contrived? Who of them is actually satisfied with every aspect of his or her life? I guess, hopefully, that none of them are completely satisfied. Change is growth.</span></span></p></div></div></span>Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-58362853574134549082011-09-02T20:28:00.000-07:002011-09-02T20:34:51.921-07:00Benched by the River -Written March 27th, 2011<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj70KYDs0-ZeS6u8BBbo0zSqGnzk3OUmYXBsEXAo6NSx_PC7O3dPT4gatdbMSDnN544HOSjF5nhiQCs4rocXBk0B5tRbLuc8CIxFA6nFzt40fl3_J00eRkqkUND1Az3pv3NuuvsDcNIK4g/s1600/P2260017.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj70KYDs0-ZeS6u8BBbo0zSqGnzk3OUmYXBsEXAo6NSx_PC7O3dPT4gatdbMSDnN544HOSjF5nhiQCs4rocXBk0B5tRbLuc8CIxFA6nFzt40fl3_J00eRkqkUND1Az3pv3NuuvsDcNIK4g/s320/P2260017.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647971704341433618" /></a>
<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Sit here, jot down your feelings. Like that will help me. Sure it will have some semblance of release, but what good will it really do? Strangers, clunk across the wood flanks, that have probably seen their share of misery and disaster. Is that how they see it? The planks, I mean. Sure, it was probably uncomfortable to be completely submersed in tumultuous water, pulling at it, threatening to rip it completely to shreds at each storm's whim. But maybe, just maybe, when it was all said and done, those planks felt cleansed. Maybe they had to go through those storms to realize how good it feels to be dry, and daily warmed and caressed by the sun. Right now, an old woman is crossing on the dock of this river front with the support of a walker, in addition to the support of those same planks, keeping her from being swallowed into the river. Naturally she, or anyone else, would not be trying to stand there without the aid of them, but somehow I feel very grateful for those planks, keeping that old woman and I from falling. Those planks now take on a sort of care-giving roll...interesting.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Sweet darling, why don't you pretend we were just a dream?"</span></span></span></p></span>Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239887669886759914.post-53904956857366396652011-09-02T20:10:00.000-07:002011-09-02T20:25:25.344-07:00Benched In D.C. -Written March 17th, 2011<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGcWIQvwPl1VochXNzjaXq38lfdD6sGH6ft3O4g0RYgxmmQNgHXS4mNM9ODIwkdJuYPpWLF4nz_Dwtkb_cdnbSZc0tEcjnbSnqaOIJ1O56yVDR8FBz7UN-uKjvsLVSj5j9A6q7XmgqD4/s1600/P3050237.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGcWIQvwPl1VochXNzjaXq38lfdD6sGH6ft3O4g0RYgxmmQNgHXS4mNM9ODIwkdJuYPpWLF4nz_Dwtkb_cdnbSZc0tEcjnbSnqaOIJ1O56yVDR8FBz7UN-uKjvsLVSj5j9A6q7XmgqD4/s320/P3050237.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647966660569628114" /></a>
<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">
<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;color:#666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;color:#666666;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Cuddle Fuddle" Passion Pit</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">So I'm sitting here, in the middle of Dupont Circle, across from some statue that I'm not cultured enough to recognize. Sitting to my left on this very long bench, is a man in a business suit, green tie heavily dusted with shamrocks, with his legs femininely crossed, revealing a glimpse of a flaming green sock. Green shirts, pants, and scarves dot and plague the crowd of locals and passerbys. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">-Too many birds. I move.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Now I'm comfortably soaking in the snarky rays of sun that have been so smugly hiding behind the cover of the clouds all winter. They laugh at all of us down here as they warm my cheeks. It's like they told the wind to play with my hair too, and the animals to be extra chipper to let me know just what I've been missing these few months.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Tessellate" Tokyo Police Club</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Strangers bike, drive, walk, and board by, each carrying their own air. A business woman walks by, carrying confidence and Chanel No. 5. An old man in a green polo with oddly fresh Nike's walks by, carrying a limp and a respect for modern fashions. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Trades and Tariffs" The Dodos</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">An old man in a red long sleeved button-down walks by, strolling along two little dogs, nestled in a matching red stroller. A young brunette woman struts by wearing knee-high leather boots and a tight mini-skirt; she carries low self-esteem, masked by a fabricated sense of confidence in her apparel. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Ride" Cary Brothers</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">All I seem to carry is an iPod, this notebook, and a purse full of things that no girl actually needs with her at all times. I wonder what aire I carry. I could attempt to diagnose myself, but that's not at all for me to decipher. I'll let that be everyone else's job.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"At the Beginning" from Anastasia...?...random</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">A piece of newspaper rolls by like a tumbleweed. Normally, if I were in Wilmington, I'd have picked it up and thrown it away. Something about how litter pollutes my semblance of paradise compels me to try to keep it clean. I suppose that's some subconscious attempt for me to clean my inner vessel while cleaning my surroundings. No excuse, I should have picked it up. I suppose that I assume that all cities are dirty, so this one would be no different, negating my compulsion to keep it clean. Rationalization. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Black Balloon" Goo Goo Dolls</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Here I am, a North Carolina bred, nineteen year old girl in a strange city. I hopped on the metro in Rockville MD, and here I am in Dupont Circle. I, Eve Naylor, walked half a mile from my cousin's apartment to the metro station, and allowed it to spit me out somewhere I'd never ventured to before. I then wandered around for an unknowable duration of time, stumbling into record stores and vintage shops, and eventually found myself eating a delicious meal of whole wheat cork screw pasta, swimming in a beautifully light pesto sauce with perfectly tender chicken slices running through it. There I was, by my lonesome in a little italian bistro, equipped with a Shirley Temple to drink to amplify my solitude.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Fiery Crash" Andrew Bird</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">To anyone else, my situation might as well have been shouted through a mega phone and televised through the entire city by the way I was dawdling through the city, and eating alone alongside my iPod and classic "chick drink," with my phone next to my plate, per chance anyone should contact me.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Wide Eyes" Local Natives</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Little do these people know, I couldn't be more content in my solitude. I find this carefree spontaneity immeasurably liberating, and am fortunate to be so at peace. I know people who can't even sleep in their beds by themselves at night, let alone wander a big city on their own, but I couldn't be more opposite.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Prove You Wrong" He Is We</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Naturally I enjoy the company of others, and toy with notions and fantasies of walking hand-in-hand with the man I love who also loves me, flirting all the day long, stopping only to kiss whenever the moment warrants it, but that's just not where I am right now. I could be toiling over lost love, and whimsical hopes of a future with the man who currently has captured my heart, who keeps it only for reasons of pride, but where would that get me? That listlessness would surely consume this independent freedom that I so desperately need at this time in my life.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Starts" Barcelona</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">A young, trendy couple is playing frisbee in the grassy micro-wilderness of this circle; there goes my confident independence. Another trendy, young couple walks past. The tall, dark, and perfectly hansom man has an expensive Cannon camera hanging form his neck, as the tall, brown haired and booted girl walks comfortably and magnetically at his side. Why must these couples be so young and trendy? More-so, why must they be so happy and in love, sharing the city? I could share the city, but not now.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"Sparrow" Scattered Trees</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">Don't worry, I'm still quite content and amazingly happy. I could not have asked for a more perfect afternoon. The sun is still warming my cheeks, and the wind is still mockingly playing with my loosely kept hair, all in Dupont Circle. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCCCC;">"The Remedy" Jason Mraz</span></span></span></p></span><p></p></span>Eve Naylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15500028592263659505noreply@blogger.com0