Saturday mornings are always intended for action and adventure and copious amounts of awesomeness.

Saturday mornings, without fail, always end up being nothing but a long 53 hour break on the couch after an arduous night of sleeping. The only thing copiously awesome about today was flirting with the cash register guy.

In my pajamas.

Cool?

Sometimes, I think that I'm cool and possess more power in my jaw than I actually have and I try and rip open an OtterPop with my bare teeth.

Suddenly.

An excess of shattered teeth on floor.

OtterPop STILL. NOT. OPENED.

Why is it that the only think I possess is my incapability of being AWESOME when I want!?!

Fonzie could do it.

3 times in an hour? OK Go.

Good band.

I'm suddenly obsessed with every one. Literally.

I want to be Mallory.

I want to be Hannah.

I want to be Chloe.

I want to be Amber.

I want to be.

I Miss EVERYONE.

I can't stop blogging.

I can't stop looking at everyone's blogs from the past couple months.

You are all so beautiful

I just barely got my new Paint for Macintosh download.

Hello again, wasted hours of my Childhood.

Mems

Sometimes, I not only neglect my blog, but I neglect everyone else's.

Then I read them again.

And I remember why I became friends with them in the first place.

Sometimes. I don't have many friends that care enough to call.

But when they do call, I don't think they know how much I needed that phone call.

I miss Shelbie and Sarah. They are so artistic. And funny. And pure.

And I get jealous/proud of them when I remember to de-neglectify their blogs.

I re-re-realize how incredibly good friends they were to me.

Does Gavin Degraw do to you what he does to me?

Should I follow up that question with some explanation before you take it the wrong way? YEs.

He holds a lot of the memories of mine in his voice.

He makes me kind of miss my Daddy. Back when I believed he was Superman. And we would go on the best road trips ever.

To places that ignited a requited love of nature.

And historical figures you didn't know had any importance in this country whose stories were recanted by the world's best tour guide. And you feel so grateful for things you didn't even know existed before.

Sometimes lives shatter when you realize how human your superhuman parents are.

And suddenly you have to look at them with human eyes instead of awed eyes.

Today, I get to see Shelbie.

Tonight, I get to cry over missing Sar.

Tomorrow, I get to laugh at myself for my ridiculocities of today.

Autumn is nigh

Freedom:

Is a place where my feet leave my signature and a blessing with every tip-toe

Where I look up and reach up and stay up. And feel up.

Where my hands conduct a symphony made up of wise leaves and child-like joy.

Where my lungs breathe in the honey that was left by a finished task

and who are in a state of flexibility.

I so long to be free.

But the chains that bind me are neither temporal nor spiritual.

They are just gray. Gray and heart-strung.

Ties that bind. Ties that break.

The ties that break may be here next Thursday night for dinner. Or may be the essay that has been prolonged. Or the shake of the head for those who can't see. Can't hear. Can't taste with me. The ties that bind only hold me in this gray, but melancholy disillusionment.

The ties that bind are in the hands of my family, my dog, the perfume of my trees in my backyard, the pothole at the end of my street to whom I always curse, the world's worst park around the corner, the world's best neighbor across the street. The sun's perfect glow on a diminishing October day.

There are few times when I miss my Fall

in my home

with my family

and my familiarity.