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just… tired.

I’m just tired… and frustrated. And sick of always missing people. There’s never enough time, never.

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If I make it through Wednesday, I will be a happy person. I have a presentation. I do not like public speaking. I am also unprepared.

On Friday night, I am going to Marjorie’s house! I am so excited. But I have much to do in the meantime. Hopefully I can focus the next few days on what is essential, homework-wise.

I miss just being able to hang out, pop down to the laundry room to chat, etc. But soon!

Oh Friday,
Salvation is thy name.
Fill me with joy,
With comfort,
With Love.
I long for Friday’s cheerful embrace.

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Summer Rain

by Amy Lowell

All night our room was outer-walled with rain.
Drops fell and flattened on the tin roof,
And rang like little disks of metal.
Ping!– Ping!– and there was not a pinpoint of silence between them.
The rain rattled and clashed,
And the slats of the shutters danced and glittered.
But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-coloured
With your brightness,
And the words you whispered to me
Sprang up and flamed– orange torches against the rain.
Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain!

So, I really like this poem. I don’t know exactly why. I just identify with it. For some random reason.

Enjoy it.

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They didn’t have two things of grape tomatoes. I had to get one grape tomato and one cherry tomato. It was almost a disaster. Just kidding.

Harvest dinner was good. Turkey was absolutely delicious.

I get to go “home” on Friday. I am excited, lemme tell ya.

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I feel… strange. Like I want to push everyone away from me. Yet I want them to be with me all the time. It’s odd.

I miss my Aunt Beast, even though I saw her two hours ago. I guess I just want to talk to her more. It’s weird.

But I just want to write. I haven’t wanted to write passionately for a long time. I just want to write everything and anything and to have it feel good. I want to write about life. I want to write about love. I want to be deep. I want to be poetic.

I want to love God like I’m supposed to. I want to be the Christian I’m supposed to be.

It’s strange how I connect writing and God. I think expression and God are intertwined in a lot of ways. David was a poet. Solomon was a writer.

I think that since I will be home next year, and perhaps the next, that I will focus a lot of my time on improving my creative writing. On making my ability to express myself key in my life.

I want to be a writer again. Not just an English major.

More on this sometime later.

I have to go get 2-3 cucumbers, 2 things of grape tomatoes, and a giant container of sour cream.