quiet.

i'm not shy, i'm not anti-social. i'm not a non-communicator. i'm just quiet.

loud feet outside the door in the hallway. blaring horns, music and tv's turned up too loud.

at times i just really do not feel like talking. it never really seems to get me anywhere anyway these days. no one listens. i can understand what is going on without needing words.

these long november nights just make me want a warm sunny patch of ground in a forest and a friend i can nod to and they will just smile and understand.

the weird thing is i have gotten really good at being a extrovert. i can almost guarantee if you were to be introduced to me, you'd never know. playing the confederate. it's just how i make it by.

being quiet is such an ugly trait to have. people can't stand silence. it makes them nervous. watch people. they have to have be talking, have music on, pretending to text, they can't handle a bit of quiet.

only problem with my little too well-done act, is after time it really wears me out. it makes me day-dream of retreating by myself, only to be interrupted by "GAH! what are you doing staring off into space! i want to talk about such-and-such unimportant such-and-such!"

oh middle class

while you stand arguing how you can indeed combine your two expired 25% off coupons on a 27.98 coupon-exclusion item, this happens. http://www.flickr.com/photos/arnade/sets/72157627894114489/

i wonder how God doesn't get tired of us. of our endless self-absorption.

you can be thankful i'm not all-powerful, i would all too quickly throw up my hands and say "whew! i'm through with putting up with that!"

yet, somehow... wondrously... Long ago the LORD said: "I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself. jer. 31:3

i don't understand it.

on time, as if on cue

the elevator door opens and dings. i look up quickly, across the foyer, strangely expecting some sort of answer to my thoughts. instead a woman hurries into the door, her larger frame filling the space. across the back what is most likely a ladies workout express t-shirt, can be read

"Change. Begins when we cease to fear."
somehow i think that answers my question.

14 minutes and 54 seconds worth of music

these are the songs that i keep replaying and humming every weird hour lately. :)

fine.

Ljósið (previously known as Let Yourself Feel) from Esteban Diácono on Vimeo.

hermit crab

though everybody has a shell, it's tough when they start to exclude you because of yours...

be resourceful, cute, and CARE LESS!

old hands and long thoughts

i ride the bus a lot. every morning to school and every evening back. i guess i've never calculated it, but probably more than an hour is spent in the function "passenger on a noisy big bus with many people."
it's really okay. not really a big deal.

i just think a lot when i'm on the bus. oh and stare off into space-- two days ago, i was riding the regular route, somehow had managed to snag an actual seat on the bus, for once. tall sweaty people were mashed right up to me, standing, arms holding onto the metal bars over head. it's really pretty awkward to be six inches away from all the generic huge farmer-boys. so anyway i tried to purge my head of disgusting, imagine the smell away, and stare out the window. in the car next to the bus was an image that really intrigued me. it was these hands.

okay not really those particular ones, but so similar.

suddenly, i was lost. they were so beautiful to me. so strange. they were all i could see driving that little beat-up volkswagen with little sunflower on the dash. just those old hands.

mine don't look like that.
i glance down at my own. the bus pulled ahead, and made a wide turn down the next street. sunlight filtered in thorough the window on me. so smooth. so young. they really were a lie. my hands don't tell my story. they don't tell my life yet.

...they say that the first place you can tell a woman's age is by her hands. centuries of hand creams and lotions haven't been able to stop times progress on little wrinkles and furrows, made as the body looses it's natural fat stores there.

it's a sign you are dying.

i mean, not that you are going to physically keel over in the next five minutes, just that that you are following the natural order of things. an external sign that we aren't here forever. it is strange to think that you start to die the minute you are born.

i love old hands, they are so textured and crinkled and carry proud stories of life in another time. age spots and veins are like growth rings on a tree to me, telling quiet reflections of life.

i guess that they just remind me of eternity.

though they remind me we aren't here forever, they remind me that there is a Forever. though there is death in me, there is life in Him.

Then saith he to the man, Stretch forth thine hand. And he stretched it forth; and it was restored whole Matthew 12:13