Back to Blogging

I took a break from my “online life” until at least the end of finals, and now I’m returning to my little corner of the www, albeit a little timidly.  I actually enjoyed being disconnected much more than expected, and I almost don’t want to come back.  There was something simpler about not worrying about having to keep up with it all.  It seems that if you have a blog (or Twitter/Facebook account/etc.) there’s this pull to always constantly be communicating through them, and tendency toward guilt if you aren’t. I read this very interesting article recently about the amount of information that is created on the internet every day.  This statement was particular shocking:

After weeks of survey research, it turns out—the bounty and abundance of web data is out of control. As Google’s Eric Schmidt has been quoted, from the beginning of time to 2003, we created 5 Exabytes of data. We’re now creating that every two days—and it’s accelerating. 

Wow.  Isn’t that just staggering?   “From the beginning of time…”

This is the first break from blogging I’ve taken that I’ve actually enoyed and not felt that guilt of being away. Though a tinge of it hit on May 26, when I realized my predetermined month break was “up.”  Hmm.  I’m thinking a lot about my technology usage, how much time I give to it.  This “information age,” this Facebook/Twitter nation we’ve become leaves me often a bit overwhelmed.  Not that technology is evil.  I regularly enjoy it.  But I feel convicted to be thoughtful about my usage of it, and what amount of my life to give it.  As any of you fellow bloggers (or 21st century humans) know, the internet has a tendency to suck you into a black hole.  It’s kind of like when you’re driving somewhere that is so familiar, that by the time you get there you wonder, “how did I arrive here?” not even really remembering your journey.

Anyways.

In other news:

• School’s out for summah! *Insert huge sigh of relief here.*  It is so nice to have a break, yet at the same time quite odd to have the freedom lack of school work brings.  2 years to go…
• The kids I nanny and I have made up a game which I will certainly have to tell more about in the future.  It’s very hilarious.  It’s called “Rock, Paper, Scissor, Everything.”  After getting tired of playing regular “Rock, Paper, Scissor” we just insert whatever comes to mind at the end. We’ve been playing daily, and some of the things they come up with are just amazing. (i.e. “avocado,” “the earth’s core,” “pillow fringe,” “the moon,” “superman,” “a flip-flop made out of smarties.”)
• During my time offline, a family of birds decided to make its home in the upper left corner of our apartment balcony, right outside our bedroom window I might add.  This means several things: 1. I don’t go out there anymore, 2. our little balcony porch, railing, and walls are covered in bird poop, 3. my husband coming to my rescue–while not wanting to injure the creatures–bought a water spray bottle and has been spraying them to try and get them to leave.  They’ve quieted down, but alas.  Still there.
• I’ve been saving for a new DSLR camera, and I’m almost there.  Once I purchase it and take some new photos, perhaps that will provide some inspiration for blog posts this summer.
• This is the cake I was able to redeem. When a recipe says “use highest quality cocoa powder,” just buckle down and do it, people.

Mmm.  This cake very well could be begging me to make it a third time.

This Always Ends Well

It just does. 

(Those of you who suffer the same disorder as I do can relate. Though ashamed to admit it, the sight of the cream-colored bag with the red rope handles causes heart palpitations galore. Don’t worry. I’m working through it in counseling.)

Instead of going out this February 14th in expected fashion, we decided against braving our fair city and its attendant hour-long waits, dressing up, and formality. My husband and I instead went to breakfast together at 7 a.m. We woke up, showered, and packed our bags for the day ahead. The Valentine parcels were placed in the car. For him: a silver box tied simply with a vintage white ribbon, speckled with tiny colored hearts. Inside was a new button-down shirt and hand-made bow-tie.

We ordered our respective breakfasts. Eggs benedict for me. Homestyle biscuits and gravy for him. His coffee was needed. They brought a whole pot. He sipped. Virtually alone in the little place, we enjoyed each other. 

He pulled out my gift from under the table with a boyish grin; he didn’t want me to see from where it came till the moment arrived for its opening. When I saw the lovely tissue (which I later realized is remarkably close to the tone of human flesh) and the small store insignia, I turned five years old with excitement. He knew I would.

The bag was heavy, and I soon discovered why. Another classic clothbound novel was inside, with a promise from him to continue the collection through special occasions like this. A perfect Valentine gift of one of the most well-known love stories in English literature. What thoughtfulness. Well-pleased, and tempted to begin reading that very moment, he had to urge me on saying, “there’s more.”

Read More

Totally ‘Flicted

I would just like to say, that I’ve never experienced such passionate love and overt fear, all mixed together, whirling around in the midst of me, at the same time, while looking at one snapshot. My husband, in this photo, is holding a… chicken.

I won’t even post it. I’m too scared.

I found said photo while perusing some of my husband’s old shots on the book of faces. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation as to why my only true love is holding… holding a… gulp.   I can’t even say it again.

Which do I trust? The love? Or the disdain? Do I dwell on the manly hands with which I first fell in love, or the head-cocking sucker whom I despise?  I feel so lost, so perturbed, so ‘flicted.  My wildest dream is seemingly cradling my worst feathered nightmare.  What am I to do?

Will the world ever make sense again?

(On the off-chance I’m being a little dramatic, please disregard this post.  Thank you.)