There Was A Point To This, I Swear...

So, I'm tired of being depressing.

I think my lack of a decent non-vampire sleeping schedule is the problem (not that there is anything wrong with vampires, I love them, I used to want to be one, but right now I like the image of me, older, dewy grass and gardening and making a home and baking love and such. I know, I'm sentimental.).

So I went to sleep around 9:41 last night, and woke up at 6:32 this morning! Yes!!

And as of now it's 7:40.

Let me tell you all something--I am not a breakfast person.

I adore mornings, but breakfast? Not so much. I just don't feel like opening my big fat mouth to absorb things before noon. Now, don't get me wrong--I love breakfast foods. Just not at breakfast time. That's why some of my favorite dinners were when mom mixed it up and we had "Breakfast for Dinner" nights.

Now, when I was younger, my family used to have breakfast together pretty regularly and it was a big cooking bonanza deal, with dad blaring Larry Norman or the Beatles or CCR or whatever else he felt like that morning. Mom would be chopping the potatoes for home fries, while also whisking up some eggs and frying bacon and then using the grease from the bacon to make gravy and putting biscuits in the oven and do not come in here it is a warzone just let me cook in peace!!! being screa--I mean. Being said every few minutes. Sternly.

Don't judge her on that, though. You'd do it too if you had five kids to feed and a husband who blared random oldies throughout the entire house.

Anyway, it wasn't that bad, but it was busy and loud and of course us kids would set the table and get everyone up and help with the biscuits. It was great.

So those types of breakfasts I can do.

I realize, of course, that for the past five or eight years I've been ignoring the mantra that is forcibly pushed on every schoolchild in America--Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

And Rachel Ray says that you should eat like a king for breakfast, a queen for lunch (no, that wasn't a gay joke. It could be. I do have "hagging rights" but I don't use them. Much. Anyway.), and a pauper for dinner. It's a good formula. I should use it.

But I just don't. Rather, I haven't. Starting today (yes, today), I am a new woman. I am accomplished. I am happy. I am striving to be more than what I am.

Today, I have goals.

Today, I will have pancakes.

Oatmeal Cookie Pancakes.

At first I figured we just couldn't do that because we need buttermilk and raisins and I'm at my grandparents house so while I know they have 32446313424 baking materials, I got on good word from a source that we don't have either of those ingredients so I was bummed for like two seconds.

But I told that source about this recipe and showed her it, and she (okay I will admit that the source is just my grandmother) agreed that we must do this now.

Did you know that buttermilk is just milk and a little bit of vinegar? Crazy.

This also means that I can make my snickerdoodles.

Rejoice to the Morning Gods, the Baking Gods, and that feeling you get at the start of something new.

Shlickyshlickyshwack

My favorite word when I was fifteen was "sublime." I hadn't heard of the band yet, because I was still very CCM, but I probably would have been obsessed with them if I had.

There's something about being a freaky eccentric non-Taylor-Swift fifteen year old that makes you emotional, stoic, and very into the dark and mysterious world of words and poetry and tragedy. Yes. You are both emotional and stoic.

It's circumstantial.

So there we are.

When I was sixteen I had moved to a new state and was still very "into" vampires. Ohhhh yes. I was/am a Twilight person. Anyway, because I loved vampires I would wear my black and red rockstar clothes with my hair all crazy and awesome, and dark rings of eyeliner with bright red lipstick.

Like two weeks later girls started to do the eyeliner/bright-red-lipstick thing. Copying? Maybe. Was I a narcissistic bitch about it? A little.

When I was ten I was a severe Christian who hated Halloween and anything not God-related.

I'll be twenty in August.

I expect I'll love throwing outfits together and wearing clunky random jewelry and throwing my hair up in different decades. And I'll be writing, and watching (not to sound like a creepy stalker or anything). I think that I'd like to go to Italy or France next year. Africa is still a definite destination. And I'm coming to love Spain too.

I don't know what this post is about, really.

LOL, FER SHERIOUS YO.

The Russian Mafia Made Me Wear A Bow Tie Today

I love going through my grandparent's house. They've got stuff everywhere, in all the little drawers and nooks and crannies, and so much of it is just passed by every day.

So yeah, I rummage. My sister kept saying that I was so "nosy" but I kept replying that I'm just an explorer.

The baby boy is crying because he's tired--I kept trying to get him to go to sleep, but he just kept fighting it. Oh well. His head bothers me. You know how babies have a soft spot on the top of their heads? Well, if you didn't know that, they do. And it pulses.

Yeah.

Pulses.

Mainly when they're hungry or crying, but it's scary to suddenly look down and see this little baby's HEAD throbbing.

Lulz. I keep feeling like I'm writing about nothing. Sorry about that. Let's think of a good topic...

You know how you end something with someone? A relationship, a friendship, a something? And you feel bad about it, no matter how bitchy or slutty those people were to you?

And then you start seeing things that remind you of them. And you know that maybe not forever, but for a while, every time you see that thing, it will keep reminding you of them. And that bad, sick, sad feeling will eat at you until you distract yourself with something.

Like double chocolaty chip frappucinos from Starbucks. And ambulances. And "samson" by Regina Spektor. It's like the existence of these things are just...tainted.

I know that this just needs time to pass. I know that I'm not some downer; a depressed emo person. Does that mean I can't be that way once and a while?