Caught the Fever

I want to spend March 2-10th in Dublin, Ireland. The cost is $1,500.
I want to be in Turkey and Greece May 13-29th. The cost is $3,400.
And then if, July 1-22nd, I could be in London, and then in Paris, that would be just dandy. The cost is $4,400.

I also want to teach English in China. Or in Ukraine.

If anyone would like to be my sponsor, that would be just lovely.

It is all merely wishful thinking.

Packing.

I thought that I could pack for college again, no problem.

I thought that I could beat the system 

and stick it to the man. 

Sure, I will have only about a third
of the storage space in my apartment
that I had in my dorm last year,

BUT 

I now have the advantage

 of knowing what clothes I didn't really wear, anyway. 

I've been mulling over my favorite jeans,
dresses,
and skirts
 for months.

It should be quick,

 easy,

 and efficient. 

I thought I had it narrowed down to six or seven skirts and five or six dresses.

Seven, max. 

I was awfully proud of myself for my growth as a packer.

AND THEN I COUNTED.

I counted sixteen skirts and twelve dresses waiting to be rolled up and packed into my suitcases.

SIXTEEN skirts.

And TWELVE dresses.

So I went through them again.
And again.
And again.

SIXTEEN SKIRTS

And TWELVE DRESSES.

And I've reached a stalemate.
I like them all.
I WILL wear them all.
-- I WILL!

But I only have half a dresser... half of a closet...  And half of the floor space under a bed.

Oh dear.

Nom Nom Nom

I have a problem.

Since returning from our super-long five-week vacation where my darling grandmother cooked us three hot meals a day, doing everything from setting the table to cooking to cleaning up afterwards, I have wanted only to eat foods of convenience.

What is a food of convenience?

Let me give you some examples.
The cookie dough sitting on the table.
The pan of brownies sitting on the table.
The chocolate bar chillin' on the counter.
Convenience.

Dinner set out on the table also counts and is definitely healthier, but I'm still fending for myself the majority of the day.

Maybe someone should set a big bowl of grapes on the table.

Red, White, and YOU

As an informed, well-aware citizen, today I went to vote. It was the local primaries. Unlike an informed, well-aware citizen, however, I went to my polling location with absolutely no idea whatsoever what would be on that ballot. Brilliant, right? My mom filled me in on some of her opinions on the car ride, and as we stood in line looking at the sample ballot. 

My strategy in the booth?
Fill in the ones that are currently "in office" and seem to be doing a "good job" (according to my source).
Apply my mother's suggestions.
Leave many bubbles blank.
Vote for the person on the flier that the guy standing just outside the building handed me (good work, volunteers!)

I am ashamed.

I am the person that my under-voting-age self scoffed at.

Exciting News about Kansas City

"Mom, there are probably so many country stations, here!"

Invitation to Love

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

Come when the nights are bright with stars

Or come when the moon is mellow;

Come when the sun his golden bars

Drops on the hay-field yellow.

Come in the twilight soft and gray,

Come in the night or come in the day,

Come, O love, whene’er you may,

And you are welcome, welcome.

You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,

You are soft as the nesting dove.

Come to my heart and bring it to rest

As the bird flies home to its welcome nest.

Come when my heart is full of grief

Or when my heart is merry;

Come with the falling of the leaf

Or with the redd’ning cherry.

Come when the year’s first blossom blows,

Come when the summer gleams and glows,

Come with the winter’s drifting snows,

And you are welcome, welcome.

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.