Welcome to Me:

I love the heated seats in my car.
I feel better when surrounded by lots of colors.
I miss college.
Anything having to do with a noodle rocks.
I want to learn more about wine.
I feel connected with writing, especially The Time Traveler's Wife. I want someone to search for me when I'm 82.
I'm having a quarter-century dilemma: kids sooner rather than later or law school? Someone decide for me, please.
I love all animals, especially gray cats with large eyes, dogs that smile, and turtles that sun bathe.
I can smell Christmas by walking outside at night.
Baking cookies makes the world seem better.
I believe that the Earth is putting a blanket on when daylight savings time ends and winter approaches. And when the Earth yawns, the blanket comes off, revealing new life and peace.
I was on top of the world when my fiance popped the question.
I used to know how to write and somehow, it got lost along the way.
I had two friends whom I loved and they moved away. But we weren't friends before they moved.
I procrastinate because it feels so good.
I am afraid of death.
I think when a candle is lit and left in the other room, flickering, that it is one of life's treasures.
Garlic is a gift and onions, too.
My fiance and I call each other Bub.
I miss my Nana.
I'm still procrastinating.

Will I get into law school?

That's the million dollar question. I thought people respected others who are well-educated, well-versed, well-rounded, well-everything. But the thing is, your past clings to you with every breathing moment when you apply for admissions to an academic program: what were your SAT scores? What's the internship you completed--you know the one, the one that mom's friend's dad's brother helped you to get that had to do with typing up something on a computer to show that you have office skills? Yeah, that one.

So I'm trying to polish up my personal statement. That thing that you have to write that tells EVERYTHING about you in like 50 words or less and if it's not good, you're doomed, yet you're also told that if your test scores and GPA suck, well then, your personal statement can suck too since they'll probably never read it!

With this application process there's stress, failure-attacks, screaming, slamming of doors, many tears, and around the corner: relief. Relief that the process is almost over. I take the LSAT again (God help me) next week, I need to write out a couple optional items pleaing for admission into schools that will cause me to go bankrupt, and finish that lovely personal statement which doesn't seem very personal. All so that I can receive a letter of welcome. Welcome, ______! You DON'T suck, after all.

So please pray for me. I really need it. I'm no academic, I'm just a regular person who wants to learn something. But unfortunately, my past is what it is. And it's for everyone to see just as soon as I give them the key to unleash it all: scores, papers, and any other baggage I have. I hope they find something half-entertaining so that the process isn't a waste for everyone.

Who's wedding is this anyway? I mean, aren't those things for me to decide?

Today is the day that I'm gonna throw it back to you.
Somehow.

Just kidding. I need to clean. I need to eat. I need to be me.

I found it. My dress. My very own lovely "I feel like a princess" dress. I can't describe it here for fear of my bub reading this, but know that it helped spring tears of joy to my eyes when I had it on at the store last night. I felt heavenly, gorgeous, a queen. And now I must wait, wait a very long time, to wear it. Make it my own. Adore the feeling of lightweight bliss. The day cannot come soon enough.

I have great news!

I'm almost fully recovered from my sickness. And when I was feeling especially gross (two days ago), we managed to keep our appointment with a priest to see if he would marry me and Peter this summer. And he can! I am ecstatic. I just wanted to say so b/c now everything is official. With my reception site and church set, I can now go dress shopping, which I'll start looking for tomorrow.

Yay! :)

I went home sick today. It sort of feels like cockroaches are kicking in my chest and down my spine. Please go away.

Dear Bub,

That sparkly thing on my hand is not for me.

It is for you.

You are the one who believes in us truly, deeply. Although I have known for a while. For a long while. It was you who I waited for: to approach me, but then to decide that you loved me enough to spend each day in one another's thoughts, dreams, fears--in person--and in heart.

I'm so glad you finally chose me, Bub.

Love, the one.

I'm really out of practice, so I hope my posts will improve.

There's so much to ramble on about, but I am at work trying to do this again b/c my mind wants to stretch in a million directions, and yet, I always leave feeling like the day escapes me too quickly. Maybe if I was more productive and focused, I wouldn't feel that way.

I've been listening to "Sorta Fairytale" many times lately. You know, the one by Tori Amos. The song is so smooth, so melodic, that I haven't yet been sick of hearing it yet. I'm sure that will change. I like change, I do.

I don't like when posters exploit their lives online so that they can garner attention. Ahem, you know who you are. I mean, really, do you think you're going to get a book deal that way? Or a fan club? Get over yourself.