Every mouth sings of what it's without,

so we all sing of love.

 

Babies sleep in all our bones,

so scared to be alone.

 

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I feel a bit downtrodden and exhausted at the moment, and not for any particular reason that I can think of. My father tells me I'm working too hard at my classes. He could be right: I'm getting good grades, and I'm not working as hard as I have before now, but for some reason, it's wearing on me, wearing me down.

I hardly ever go out to shoot photos, because I'm just so tired, or so aware of all the things I "should" be doing (online homeworks, reading assignments, washing the gigantic stack of dishes which never seems to grow any smaller). And maybe just because I've lost some momentum. Everything else in my life has surged up and smothered my drive to make art.

I guess I'll just hope for some truly easy breaths sometime soon.

 

 

I just finished the book The Hunger Games in about one 7-hour sitting. I ordered the rest off Amazon because I'm too impatient to have someone get me them for Christmas.

 

The snow here is lovely, in the same way poisonous animals are lovely: from a distance. The weather will be fine one minute, then snowing so hard you can't see the lines on the road, or really the road itself, then all of sudden it's perfectly clear. And so the cycle repeats itself. Pff.

 

I drove up to the mountain range and forest near my town, hoping I could still get up to the summit,

but it's too late in the season, and it was all snowed out. I trooped into the woods though, and as I was there, the most peaceful, silent snow began to drift down, the sort they show in movies. It was incredible.

 

 

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