Okay 26.

Someone asked me how I was going to get through the school doors with a smile on my face when classes begin again and I got a stomach ache.  My mama wanted to know how I'm going to juggle all of the people and Monday night, Thursday afternoon, Sunday evening things.

There are trips to go on.  Projects to master.  And I have got to be better at sleeping.

Maybe I'll figure it out tonight.

Or get chinese food and wash my hair. 

I rescued a couple of sad perennials the other day; I was on my way to rent a movie and I saw them outside the store, blown over and forgotten.  They were the perfect find because I was having one of those lonely, but not lonely for people, days.  And I still had one bare windowsill to fill.

I've named them.  Alice and Harold.  They're quite the pair and they're planning on growing old together.  If I remember to water them.

My dad is scheming about our bike trip and I was a little nervous, but now I'd do anything to get out of town.  We were supposed to leave today, but my lungs were too sore and my head was too loud. I'm having a sleepy day so that we can leave tomorrow.

I have a lot on my mind lately.  I have the chapter titles for it all because it is enough to write a book about, but the ending would be awful because I don't have a resolution, I don't have anything really.  Just little jabbing points and snarky observations.

Maybe I'll get really fed up and spew some out.  Because someone needs to start talking about this mess. I'm going to take a break for a while if my heart gets any worse towards it all, it goes against the grain of my soul.

Last night, a new friend asked me what my five year plan is and I scrunched my nose at him.  Five years?  Shoot.

Maybe I'll be in Japan, sharing our lovely language.  Maybe I'll be living in the mountains and spending my days with beautiful, wise children.  Maybe Jesus will come back, maybe I'll be alone, maybe my hair will be really really long and I'll still be rescuing plants.

He can do anything in five years, anything at all.  And I'm not really picky.  Being picky is exhausting and boring.  I thought all of this in my head, but with my mouth I smiled and gave him one of my fake plans.  Oh, I'll be a professor and I'll be teaching those classes no one wants to teach, you know.  Composition and Technical writing.  I'll live in a gray house with white shutters and flowers everywhere.  The grass will be long because I'll only mow on good tanning days and I'll still be driving Betsy around.  Maybe she'll have a different flower.  You never know, crazier things have happened.

And on a scale of 1 to 10, I'll be a 7.5.  Don't you doubt it.

I've been a 7.5 ever since that question was invented.

I guess it all comes down to this:  Life is too fast, school is too dull, dating is too ridiculous, and communication skills are at an all new low.  Oh, and I really, really need a Tasha night.

Really.