I love this painting. That's why it's on the wall over my couch, along with a lot of other art.
My mom, who knows this, got me this awesome shirt for Christmas. I wear it swing dancing a lot, thereby combining two things that make me happy. Now if only I could eat chocolate while dancing....
She also gave me a journal. Are you noticing a theme yet?
Now, every time someone gives me a nice journal, I'm left with an ethical dilemma: do I fill this gorgeous book with what will, a few years later, be nothing but humiliating drivel, or do I leave it on the shelf to lead a long life of pristine uselessness?* The latter option tends to prevail, as the unused blue satin journal with a sequined cover that someone gave me for my eleventh birthday bears witness. But I hadn't been keeping a personal diary or journal in a while, and I missed it, so finally, I hit upon a solution that I hope will keep me journalling in a regular and worthwhile manner until the book is full. I'm keeping a journal of Sundays.
For example, this week, the third Sunday of Lent, I went to Sunday school and church, made bread, wrote a birthday letter to Timbrel, played volleyball, watched Tangled, and went to a Psalm sing... or at least, that's the nutshell version. Don't worry, the real entry was a lot more interesting. I want to be able to look back and enjoy remembering the best of my college days (or at least what's left of them now that I'm almost done being a junior) by remembering how I rested.
*Sentences like this one are how you know I'm tired.