|[The picture is not mine, I found it on the internet.]|
I ate a soapy chocolate bar last night. It made me smile, and made my tongue curl in weird shapes.... then my brother and I drove home.
[Following a conversation about journals]
"Time is weird to think about. The past, present, future."
"Oh, any past, personal past, history past. Just past. 'Cuase, you wouldn't think a day would make a difference. But there are three hundred sixty-five days in a year. A lot can happen in a year. But then again, a year doesn't make much difference in the grand scheme of things.
But what about a hundred? or fifty even? Everything that happens is history, a little bit gets bigger..... Like marbles in a bag, ice cubes in an ice bin, days in a year, grains of sand, raindrops in a barrel."
".... Why do you always get philosophical?"
"Yeah, that was philosophical."
"Oh, I don't know. I just think about that kind of thing a lot." "Frog!" The vehicle swerves, I return back into the proper lane. The frog hops away.
It is dark as we drive through the familiar country roads. The radio was turned off miles ago and we sit in comfortable silence. The windows are rolled partly up because of the cool air, still we want ventilation - the air conditioning doesn't work. Music plays in my head, "I'm weird cause I hate goodbyes..." Rubber munches on gravel.
Each day is a clean sheet of paper. I like to draw fun pretty pictures on it. With lots of smiles. Put the One who gave me the sheet of paper in the center and then draw something nice. Why make scribbles? You can't erase them and if you do try you usually end up with a hole in your paper.