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Lovely Debacle

Jul 03
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All around the mulberry tree...

My family has never owned their own house. When I was little we hopped from apartment to apartment every few years, each one slightly nicer than the last but still not ours.

My mother and father were both very outdoorsy people when I was young. They loved growing in our tiny garden on the side of the apartment building. Eventually, when I was six, we rented out a garden plot in the next town over. Weekend mornings were spent in the garden, where I would run around the surrounding plots, stealing a flower here and there.

In the center of the garden plots was an enormous mulberry tree. The day we discovered it was heavy with deep purple fruits was nearly magical. For the rest of the season I’d climb up the low branches to the best fruit and fill yogurt containers with the sweet berries that tasted not quite like raspberries and not quite like grapes. We’d sprinkle them over our cereal in the morning, I think we even tried to make a pie once. Mostly, I’d sit on the edge of the plot with my tiny buckets of mulberries and munch until my fingers and mouth were stained red.

I was completely unknowing then of how different my life would be in fifteen years. My parents would lose time for the garden, and grow apart from each other like vines searching for their own light. My dad would leave this world too soon, while I was thousands of miles away. The house with the beautiful garden out back would be a dream we were all still reaching for, long after the berry stains were gone from my fingers.

I discovered that my walk to work in the city is lined with mulberry trees. My inner child begs me to reach out to them and pluck the fruit from its branches. My twenty-one year old self refuses. Not because I doubt that they are the same fruits I used to love, but because I don’t think they’ll ever taste so sweet again.

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Me and Siobhan are side by side on our laptops...

  • (I am chatting with a few people, including Siobhan's boyfriend, Jimmy)
  • Siobhan: What are you talking about
  • Ashley: Oh, we're going to run away together tomorrow night and have animalistic sex somewhere.
  • Siobhan: I didn't mean what you were talking about with Jimmy.
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Jul 02
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Away We Go = epitome of adorableness.

Also, if you have a bad habit of chewing on the inside of your lips, orange juice is a poor choice.

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Jul 01
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Please, don't.

Looks like I get out of awkwardness Friday. And considering I’m only in Boston Thursday afternoon through Sunday morning, with work (doubles, urg) Friday and Saturday, I may just avoid this situation.

I’d kind of rather not have to say goodbye. Not because I want him to stay, but because the whole situation will just be awkward.

“So. Bye.” “Have fun.” Awkwardest hug ever. End scene.

I’ll just end up dissapointed and be on edge and twittery for the rest of the day.

I’d just rather not have that happen.

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Jun 30
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If you know me...

You know that my driving skills are not the very best. Nor is my love of driving, of which there is none. So. You’ll imagine my extreme state of panic tonight when I had to drive for a half hour after play practice to get home in a torrential downpour and lightning right above my head. I freaked the fuck out and had to pull over twice.

The Final Destination series has made me convinced my death is just moments away.

But I can’t wait for Final Destination 3D to come out…

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Dear Makers of the Sister's Keeper Movie

————Uhh SPOILERS or whatever, ok?————

You killed the wrong sister! Losers.

Other than that and a bit too much cheesy, it was ok.

I should have waited for the DVD though.

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Jun 29
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I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.
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creampuff:
Dream About Me

creampuff:

Dream About Me
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quote-book:
(via: kari-shma)
I will re-blog this a million times because I love it.

quote-book:

(via: kari-shma)

I will re-blog this a million times because I love it.

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(via littlemiss)
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(via etrangere)
(via etrangere)
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(via cowgirlblues)
I will catch my own damn spiders.

(via cowgirlblues)

I will catch my own damn spiders.

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Despair.nu
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