When I moved in to my new apartment, my wonderful Mother put contact paper and most of the shelves. She left a few to me. I decided to stop pushing it off and tried to paper some tonight. It went… less well.
The thing is, I am not a big fan of this whole measuring thing. Or cutting. I once won the “Measure Once Cut Fifteen Times” award on a mission trip.
Which is to say, if you ever come over, the shelves with fitting paper are my Mom’s work.
When I worked at camp, I received numerous hand-written letters from my friends and family. Some I continued corresponding with even after I left camp. I value every letter I received that summer.
And so, now that my sister and cousin work at camp, I try and send them hand-written letters too. It is a bit tricky because they’ve politely told me they won’t write back. And you can only write so many sentences before you want to throw in a question or two. But I keep writing anyway because I know sometimes the highlights of my days came when I checked my mailbox.
Writing letters takes time, though. I spent hours today writing. (Well, one of my letters was a 24-page response to a 16-page letter from an old friend who I correspond with regularly but haven’t since before I left for Thailand. Much to catch up on.) It takes time but is worth it! Especially when I get a response. 😉
I did the grocery shopping for my family today and decided to get a watermelon. My cart, however, was pretty full and so I stuck it underneath: a risky move.
I kept staring at it as I walked around Wal Mart, making it sure it wasn’t about to fall out. Wal Mart rearranged while I was in Thailand so it takes twice as long to find anything. The cereal is in the swimsuit section and bacon is now by bagels. Totally confusing.
So, it took a while. But the watermelon did not fall out.
Triumphantly I exited Wal Mart, loaded down with groceries, when I heard…
“Excuse me, is this your watermelon?”
I look and sure enough. My watermelon decided to make its escape…halfway across the parking lot.
I ran after it, managed to avoid getting hit by a car, and brought it home once again triumphant in my success. Only to realize…we already have half a watermelon in the fridge.
Happy Birthday to me!
I spent a wonderful day at the museum with (some) of family, including my adorable nephew!
Korean for dinner and my favorite movies to finish up!
Super grateful for all the birthday love and wishes!
I am spending my last day as a 25-year-old working on a Law & Information Technology final for a class that ended in May. It feels oddly symbolic–and utterly depressing.
I also work today. This too feels symbolic. I spent most of the first half of my year in this office crafting my law review note and trying to squeeze work hours in while juggling twenty other commitments.
Neither memory leaves me feeling particularly joyful. 25 is not a year I would willingly repeat.
Colorado, Madison, Thailand, Madison some more. The real takeaway I see from 25 is that the second year of law school is somehow more terrible than first year. And I didn’t even think that was possible.
I suppose I grew as a writer and traveler this past year. I overcame a lot. I think I also failed a lot. Or at least I fell flat on my face more times than I care to count.
I am not sure what hopes to have for 26. It will cover one more year of law school. It feels a bit like one more year to ‘get through,’ which I don’t want to be the case. I love birthdays because they mean a new start. But with 2L year still nipping at my heels and 3L year looming ahead, I feel more braced than expectant.
But you know what? Here is to 26. As my favorite poet, Tanner Olson, says: hope doesn’t let the story end.
And another year of law school is not the end of the story. So, that is how I want to approach 26. Hopeful. Even if I am not really sure what to hope for. Because it represents a new year and a new chance to kick law school’s butt. Or at least try not to let it totally kick mine.
Happy 4th of July!
I spent a lovely day with family and finished by seeing the new Spiderman movie with my brother. It was pretty epic.
I am not saying Thomas Jefferson is my spirit animal, but he might be my spirit animal.
Redheaded book lovers really are the best.