I'm married to a thirty year old. Will does not act like a thirty year old and I mean that in the least pubescent way possible. To celebrate his momentous day of birth, I fed his face full of pretty scrumptious food. All Will really wanted for his birthday was to get his car tuned and that is exactly what we did. I love Will because he doesn't like attention. He wants the spotlight as far away from him as it can get. The problem with marrying me is, I love to shine the spotlight on him because he is someone worth celebrating. At the end of the day he made sure I knew that he liked being celebrated by me. I told him, "I will celebrate you whether you like it or not!" I mean, thirty years is a great success and he is unbelievably healthy, so why not celebrate making it this far. Happy Birthday, lovee-o-mine!
I have a routine. Every morning I have to check my blogs. The blogs that inspire me. The blogs that make me hunger. The blogs that make me wish I had a entirely new wardrobe. The blogs that poop on my writing skills. Sounds like I spend my entire day reading blogs. Have you this all takes place all under 15 minutes. It's something I do to relieve my brain from all my studies that I partake from each day. Anyways. It gets harder to blog when there are so many creative blogs out there that I can just read. I don't have to type up a gianormous paragraph, all I have to do is read and let my fingers relax. But, I was looking at ancient posts here on my blogaroo and realized...this blog is for me. I mean, I love to write to update whoever on the happenings taking place in my life.
The thing is, I shouldn't use this blog to appeal to an entire population, but rather use this blog for a place to relieve thoughts that are pent up in my noggin'. Or, to record how I got through nursing school (which I am still in the process of doing). Or, express how happy I am so that when I am in the dumps or need a pick-me-up I can look back and smile at all the good times I've had. I love writing and most of all I love memories.
I am so glad my mom made me write in my journal as a youngen. I look back at all my entries and sometimes I can scratch my head, and think, "Glad I wrote in my journal today, because I would not have remembered how I hit my brother in the nose with a bat for tickling me until I had to pee!" I promise, I wasn't an abusive sister and I did not break his nose. I just didn't know what else to do. I don't need to defend myself to the public. He deserved it, and anyways he's fine now, all growed up and working for Microsoft in Charlotte, NC. I think that bat did him some good. Just thought I'd write some thoughts down since it's been ages since I've written on this thing. And the format of blogger has changed, looking a bit...new. Thank you peasants for reading my blog. I wish thee well.
Oh, I ran a half-marathon. That was a pret-ty good day, why can't I have that day over and over and over...oh wait. I think that was my last one. They are hardcore, man.
As you can see from my distasteful expression.
My Will-man was there. Waiting at the finish line for moi. Brought his handy dandy camera. Oh and look, I got a medal. Except everyone's medal looked identical to mine. I still believe I won first place. They just gave me the wrong medal, those reets.