It's a Sunday, and I forgot to go to church today. Meaning, I slept right through my alarm.

I have to write an 8 page memoir by tomorrow morning, 

but all I can think about is how people use the words domestic and domesticated interchangeably. I can't stop laughing every time I read or hear it.

"I made some cupcakes this afternoon!" 

"Wow, Sally. You've recently become extremely domesticated!" 

Isn't that funny? 

I love the sweet spirits who don't think vocabulary, as a whole, is important. I feel the same way about people who spell crying like this: crieing. HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE IN YOUR HEAD?!

     I also can't stop thinking about a small, grey kitten I bought in Smithfield last spring semester, and how it was too young to leave its mom. I really hate myself for taking it away from her too soon. I think about how hard that must have been for the little guy... under the constant love and care of his mama. Never having to worry about meals or not being loved.

     On Monday, I was supposed to return from Draper to Logan. The time came for me to say goodbye to my adorable mother. I packed up my duffle bag, kissed her on the cheek, but couldn't walk out the door. We ended up making dinner and watching four hours of Downton Abbey. 

     I miss her today. And I hate myself for living so far away from her. (Ha! SO far away.) 

Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday, second only to Christmas (and my birthday... but really, those are just jumbled together, anyway). I hate it when people hate Valentine's Day. It's like, can you not just be a happy person? If nothing else, can you at least appreciate the candy aisle? On that note, you should all know that my lovely party is happening this Friday, rather than the next. I know you're all dying to come. 

Another thing. A last thing: 

     Being brave is hard. It wasn't hard a while ago, but it also didn't get me very far. Maybe that's the point of bravery, though. Maybe if it's easy, it's not real. Maybe if it's hard, it's good. You can't be brave for brave's sake, because what's the point of that? Maybe if it takes time, it's worth it.

But maybe not, too. 

It's all really just a roulette of trial and error, and I hate that. There's a certain element of negative space here, and aside from Barbara Hepworth, that is never a good thing. 

I probably could've finished one of my pages by now...

P.S. Sorry that this blog doesn't make sense anymore. It's basically like a jumble of a thousand different things going on in my head, and I can't control the type vomit that projects from my fingers (that was gross imagery. I apologize.) Maybe it will get back to normal soon; maybe I will get back to normal soon.