Time rolls under my feet like asphault beneath my wheels on a road trip toward a horizon that seems so close it burns my flesh. The stench of decay settles wearily upon me, I take no notice of it. It was there the day I was born, and will undoubtedly follow me to the grave. Love expounds from my bloody heart, the day it lies dry the destination will have been found.
Will it be all we expect it to be? Much more, or frighteningly less?
Why is my blog always so damn emo? If you know me at all you know a few things about me:
I never shut up. Ever. Right now I have simply exchanged speech for text.
I am highly opinionated, but only moderately educated, and slightly indignant.
I brake for tail-gaters. 'Tis true.
I brag about my children a lot, and when other parents don't, I wonder "Why not?"
I browse other people's blogs and wonder why I am not as fun, or fashionable, or talented, or motivated. I think that we all feel that way, but still feel slighted and unecessary.
Moderation is not in my repertoire of prior experience.
I long to have some sort of kitchy, stylish, up-cycled, mint-colored blog about all of Mica's newest clothes from Target and JT's latest fascination with losing teeth.
Tomorrow, I will be her.