Ode to the end

Hello again, dear weekend. It is so nice to see you again! Has it only been a week since I last saw you? Somehow, it seems as though it must have been much longer. I'm well aware that before I have time to relax in your presence, you will vanish for yet another week. You always seem to be in such a hurry, and I am often annoyed by your sense of urgency. However, I find it virtually impossible to cope without you. I'm inclined to tell you to come often, but yet every moment that passes is a moment I can't get back...

What cruelty. We wish our days away, longing for a break in the grind, but turn around to find that life is passing us by. I spend every day of the work week looking for the end, but the end comes and goes much too quickly, leaving me back where I started. Repeat the cycle. Yet with each day that passes, my children change. Friends and family members grow older. I wish I could figure out how to live in the present. It doesn't matter that mundane Monday is the opening of the work week. Monday is just as glorious as Friday and holds just as many happy possibilities. Every day that we are living and breathing should be celebrated and cherished. Days should not be wished away on the notion that somehow Saturday is more miraculous...simply because we don't have to go to work. How much better would we be if we lived every day the way we live weekends?

Thought swirl

Oh, disillusionment. I suddenly realized that "Billy Twofeathers" in David's Thomas movie is none other than "Chingachgook" from The Last of the Mohicans. He speaks with a flawless American accent. It ruins the image a bit...

Johnathan, Emily, and I talked to the ceiling in the early morning light from about 6:00-7:30 this morning. I was too awake to fall back asleep, so Emily and I have been sitting in the still living room. Dawn was warm and misty, and I was thinking of how nice it would be to walk the streets of Charleston this early in the morning.

Cheerful beginnings have a way of making you consider all of the nice things in this world.

I started making a list of things I want to do. It includes (but is not limited to):
-Learning to speak another language
-Meeting a Beatle
-Writing a book
-Having my photos in a gallery
-Seeing NYC near Christmas
-Growing a garden
-Owning a coffee shop
-Teaching history
-Re-learning "The Raven"
-Sing in a performing group
-Visit all 50 states
-Specialize in rock and roll history...or the counterculture
-Dine at the SunDial in Atlanta
-Takes night-time photographs from the top of the Empire State Building
-Make "tea time" a household fixture
-Live in Charleston, on the Georgia coast, or nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains
-Become super organized
-Teach my kids how to catch fireflies
-Be photographed for a magazine

Now. Obviously, growing a garden is much more...er...accomplish-able than meeting Ringo Starr or Paul McCartney. I have always wanted to sing in a performing group, but I will never be a Jessica Lucas. My photography my be decent from an amateur perspective, but there's more to it than simply having a good eye. Time and money are needed to perfect the craft. I'm very unlikely to be picked as a model for a magazine. I'm pear-shaped and hardly striking enough in appearance...not to mention the time and money issue again. I would love to write a book, but I don't have a workable idea. Basically, I'm trying to realistically narrow my list. I'm only twenty-two, but I'm already a married, working mother-of-two. There are limitations and will always be greater priorities than my own distant aspirations. I don't plan on wiping my ideas just in case one of them presents itself in an unexpected way, but I'm more likely to achieve at least one of the big ones if I build on a strength. The only question is, out of writing, photography, performance, and magazines, which area holds the greatest potential for success? At least I know that I can handle road trips, owning an Irish Setter, and learning more about politics and finances. Comments and criticisms welcome.

What a week

"Show me the way to go home - I'm tired, and I wanna go to bed..."

I was browsing through a Reader's Digest collection of songs (yes, such things exist) when I came across "Show me the way to go home." I supressed the urge to laugh out loud and eagerly read the last line. Why, you say? Rewind four years to the beginning of my stay in Parkhurst Hall. Erin and I were watching the movie "Jaws" one evening, which features a tipsy version of the previously mentioned lyric. It became a bit of a theme for us over the next two semesters, and we would break into a loud chorus whenever drunk with sleep-deprivation...or bored silly. The only problem was that we never really knew how the last line went because the song trails off when the shark reappears. Now I know the end of the song! It's an odd little perk, but it was a perk nonetheless.

Another strange perk was having a small plane fly alarmingly close to my car while on the way home. There is a small airport on Wrightsboro. I pass it everyday going to and from work. Planes frequently fly very low over the medical center, but I haven't experienced one landing in such close proximity. It was unnervingly close to traffic, and I gaped in amazement as it touched down on the landing strip. I always loved seeing the planes fly overhead as they touched down or departed Hartsfield, so while not the same magnitude, it was a much more personal and exciting.

This has been enough of Brittany's bizarre moments of interest. I'm hungry.

O, Canada!

M in her souvenir gift from Canada!