i'd sell my soul for brad paisley, jane, & emily. come to think of it, i think i already did.

miss gwen conover and i, 

well. 

we're good for each other. 

and sometimes we want to start a book discussion. 

which means we read the same book and discuss it periodically.

we will be reading the above lovelies.

feel free to join us.

p.s.

current obsessions include this and this.

i guess this means i'll always be a country girl.

oh. and it's freckle city over here.

you should know that i like words. a lot.

forgetfulness

the name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of paraguay.

whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

it has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

no wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
no wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

billy collins.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

bucket list:
-converse with the genius man that wrote this brilliant piece of art.

...so i love billy collins. let's just get that out in the open. i am most likely his biggest fan. the way his words flip off my brain with a secret meaning has taken over me; i have become a victim of this man! ...well, his writing... if you liked this, read this. it is my favorite poem, coincidentally by my favorite american poet.

and before you judge it, say that it's bland, i just want you to use your brain a little bit harder today, and dissect it. appreciate the integrity in his writing, and fall in love with his words the way that i have.

*hint:
...if you see a dog on a scale, you're not reading it right.

the day we spent at the kitchen counter.

this week has been one of champions.


starting with the fact that missy and i made valentines for 8 hours today.
count them, 8.
from the minute i got home from school at 2, until 10:00... making strawberry crepes in between.
we managed to cut through a mountain of construction paper...



...and finished off by delivering them door to door.
valentine's day is just my second favorite holiday.
so we get pretty absorbed by all of the festivities.


the book store was a treat this week.
which it rarely is.
yes, i do go in there on a daily basis and want to purchase everything, but it was never that great until we found these.

the above statement printed is the complete opposite of everything i know.
there is nothing hot about this place. it's a frozen tundra.

and then i just don't get this one at all...

aaaand for your information, i'll be spending my friday morning in these, reading jane austen.


{happy weekend!}

mrs. somebody. darcy or the latter.

hey.
my mind is here right now. so i can't talk to you.





look familiar now?

please don't try to contact me right now.
i took a quick trip.
i'm out of the country.
i find myself doing this from time to time subconsciously.
i get on google and just look at pictures of different places around the world for hours at a time...


so today i went to groomsbridge.
be back soon.

while we're on the subject...
kind of...
i just want to throw in my piece of the day.
which is mrs. richard brinsley sheridan by thomas gainsborough

why can't life be as simple as a rococo painting?
i kind of just want to be this mrs.

it is a truth universally acknowledged.

i have been reading lately.

because that's what i do.
alllll too often.


pride and prejudice is like nourishment to the hole inside of me that is starving.

i have read it before, liked it even. but never have i really understood it. for what it's worth, at least. if you haven't read it, get yourself down to barnes and noble pronto. skip your way down the aisle to the b&n classics shelf, and snag one of these 5$ paperbacks. you will love me for this. and if you don't, well. you just must not be cut out to be my friend.

just kidding. i still like you.

but anyway. back to this little story.

reading it before, it was just it. you know. when something is just there. but this time... different story. i'm not sure if it's because i'm older now, and more interested in it, or if it just consumed me this time in a way that nothing else has. literature seems to have that effect/affect {i have no clue which one to use. you probably don't either. because that homonym is sneaky. and it probably fools you too. but if it doesn't, you're famous.} on me.

do you ever feel like when you're reading, you're not in your living room anymore? that sounds laaaame. and cliche. but i'm serious. it's like when my mind is engaged in the afternoon activities at netherfield, i am no longer laying on my carpet, book in hand, flipping my ponytail. i'm a guest at the bingley manor in a big pastel dress and my gloves are made of lace.

mr. jack wickham, though i very well know the kind of person he is, in the beginning of the book i will admit that i, too fall pathetically into his hands. figuratively speaking of course...

before i get too wrapped up in this and keep myself up until too early in the morning talking about derbyshire, i believe i have made my point. literature just pumps breath into me in a way i can't explain to you until you breathe it in yourself.


screw this, i'm going to read.