Song of the Sparrow

This song was going through my head. It's a rainy, cold day.

Porcelain

everything i love
was made of porcelain,
ready to break.
but the bright, staggering light,
it anxiously waits inside.
like nesting dolls, the secret hides.
and like every birth,
it was a necessary pain
i know, i know
it's all worth the wait, worth the weight.

Are you wasting away in your skin

Are you missing the love of your kin

Drifting and floating and fading away

You have it all, the poise and the strength that we can't fake

But don't you ever tire of walking that wire

To know that we'll move on as you break

Thought Trains and Food Chains

Do you ever catch yourself within a train of thought and wonder how you got there?

In art class today we watched a film about an artist called Harry Clarke [more on him later. maybe.]

Clarke suffered from tuberculosis and it eventually took him at the ripe age of 41. 

I found myself profoundly encouraged to see the great work that he made despite his chronic illness. 

Why? I asked myself.

Because a few months ago a guy I respected looked me in the eye and said 

"You know you really have a lot of health problems."

And I believed that. 

And not only did I believe it, but every time I came down with a cold or a slight headache I built upon this theory that I am an invalid and somehow less of a person.

So today, as I was riding full speed ahead on my "lowest of the foodchain" train I suddenly realized that I didn't want to take this line. 

And in that moment I heard God speak to me, clear as day; 

"I made you just the way you are. I love you just the way you are."

And just like that, the train crashed.

When I made this blog I promised myself that I wouldn't put too much personal life out on the internet for everyone to know. I tend to be a private person. 

But maybe vulnerability is what keeps us close. Shoot, a little honesty keeps this thing real.

And now

It is midnight in Belfast.

I have a library to make an appearance in tomorrow.

Goodnight.

✉

A Pair of Slippers

I am so thankful for a £4 pair of slippers. They have been my constant companion this semester, and especially this week as I developed a cough/cold. The Irish climate has been a bit harsh for this Texas girl. 

A Most Unanticipated Compliment

        "Your hair is the exact color of a pint of Guinness!"

This was said with the utmost excitement. 

I guess some people would value their beer enough to deem its comparison a highest praise. 

Gone to Galway

Be back soon.

      

Thoughts Clank like Pennies and Keys

Today

I took a walk.

At some point in that walk, I decided to climb a tree.

They say man is descended from monkeys. 

I think I missed out on the monkey gene and got a fish ancestor.

A ripped pair of tights and a bruised knee later, I gave up on the climbing a tree absurdity.

Susan is right. In the book of life, I would make a killer damsel in distress.

Nothing like a bruised knee to keep me humble.

So I sat at the base of that darn tree and watched the light fade. 

It is a rare and wonderful thing to find a peaceful place when you live in a manor with 22 other students.

But today my thoughts clanked like a box of pennies and keys- so loud the trees could probably hear.

I bet they are back there gossiping about me right now.

So much has happened since I came here.

Yesterday

It would have been the one year anniversary of me and a boy.

But instead, I spent the day wandering from bookshop to bookshop in search of distraction.

The dress for that very important date hangs sadly in my closet.

Tomorrow

I will watch the sun rise.

And after class, I will go looking for a pool.

I need to swim. 

A solid hour of laps, and my problems will have dissolved.

Good night all.

✉

My Family Lies Over the Ocean

Mom 

The View From My Window

Dad

Mammaw

Pappaw
Grandma

Sisters

Brother

Carla

Mike

Emma

Grayson

Swimmy[Fish]

I love and miss you all

Here are some photos 
of my little space in Ireland

✉

Velvet and Mandarin Guarding My Bed

Bedside Table {My Favorite}

Death by Mango Yogurt

My lovely roommate and I leave our window open most nights. We find that it helps filter out any un-ladylike smells that drift in from the restroom next door. This of course has meant that we often receive six and eight legged visitors on our walls or under our wardrobes. Naturally the unexpected guests are aware that the exploration of our room comes with a great degree of risk to their well being; but they seem to be no more aware of the finite nature of their lives than any human.

But I digress. 

(Sometimes I like to digress just so I can say the word. As Peter Pan would say, "Oh the cleverness of me!")

Today as I was cleaning the room I found a little dead moth. It had drowned in the leftovers of this morning’s yogurt. If it were a spider, well, I’m a bit judgmental when it comes to that race of creepy crawlys.

Being a moth and not a spider, I was sad that I didn’t get to rescue the furry thing. Why do people smash them?

I have always had a soft spot for moths. (among many other critters)

The way I see it, moths are just misunderstood butterflies.

Too bad I have trouble adopting this sort of compassion for the majority of human moths in my life.

✉

illustration credit where it's due:

There is a spot in the hallway where the vacuum cord stretches tight and won’t go any further. After you move the cord to a plug farther down the hall, you might notice that there is a patch of carpet that is out of reach no matter where you plug the vacuum in. I often wonder what kinds of dust and dirt have gathered there over the years.

You're the Cocaine In My Veins

Whenever my life goes a bit south, I like to listen to this song. Sometimes I feel like real human love is as unattainable as an illegal drug.

And darling, the dirt beneath your feet

And the scars that line your knees

Are what keep me moving on.