Some days are days of icky, irrational ticked-off-ness and general melancholy. A state that the Man in the Chair would call: blue. Those days make you feel like your life is going the opposite direction of what you want and what you want exactly alludes you. You are an un-pleaseable and unhappy creature on days like this, where you feel resentment towards everyone, you rediscover how much the overuse of the lacey cami/undershirt bothers you (oh wait . . .that's everyday . . .people, they're undershirts, as in they go under things, as in don't wear them like a regular shirt, because the shape does nothing for you, except pull and awkwardly in not attractive lace. Don't get me wrong, I love lace . . .just not the ugly hanging off those shirts) and you wish it would rain to match the storm that rages inside you. And you feel like everyone is fulfilling their dreams, while you feel stuck in a huge mud hole, called your existance and you second guess yourself on every little move you make and you become mad with envy. You despise and are insanely jealous of the day, of the world, because everyone in it seems to be together, no one but you is alone.

Today is not an example of such a day.

It is the kind of day that you glorify being part of creation, and everything beautiful and good comes to you and happens to you and everything lovely and perfect is put in your way because you deserve it. The world is magnificent for you. And every song you hear is the perfect song for the moment and your hair looks good (even if it was touch-and-go this morning) and you wear turquoise for you to see and you don't care if anyone notices because it's fun to have a secret, a pretty little secret in the form of a pile of bangles. All the people in your life are more than you could ever hope for or want, and you love, love, love them and you remember what endears them to you. There's nothing special about this day, except that it is a day . . .and you get one more of them. It's the whole "because the world is round it turns me on . . ." there doesn't need to be a reason, it just is. There's something lovely in having a reading room to yourself, looking out the window to a mountain, listening to the Beatles and writing.

Oh and I'm leaving Provo for the night.