Not Happening

Well, this week marks the beginning of Parade Season. I am soon to be involved in some where near 30 parades. I am actually looking forward to it.

I have thoroughly enjoyed my 4 1/2 day weekend. I have been busy all weekend but it has been the good kind of busy.

I am still in no mood to write. The only solid thing I can say is - I am alive and breathing. And God still holds the world in the palm of his hands. Am I messing up? Probably so. Do I mean to? No. Is it going to be alright? Eventually, yes. I know this because- I will always choose Him. I am a marked woman. I couldn't escape if I tried. haha. And goodness knows, I would be stupid to try.




Fly

by Sanctus Real

When last place is where I’ve been
It’s hard to find the strength to start again
Sometimes it seems like I can never win

I’m held back by the weight of a crowd
Can’t move to find my way out
You give me faith to get my feet off the ground
‘Cause it’s not easy...

Trying to fly against the wind
When I keep on falling back to where I’ve been
Start over again

I’m overwhelmed when there’s too much
Hiding the view to all that you’ve done
I step back to see how far we’ve come
And you’re always with me (when I’m)

Trying to fly against the wind
But I keep on falling back to where I’ve been
Trying to fly against the wind
Start over again

When last place is where I’ve been
You give me what I need to start again

Trying to fly against the wind
But I keep on falling back to where I’ve been
Trying to fly against the wind
And you keep on coming back for me again...over and over again




Quotes of the day:



"This Time It Wasn't My Fault.
On several previous occasions I have found myself up to my neck in trouble (and that's pretty high up, because I am almost 6 feet tall), which might have been avoided if I had displayed a little ladylike discretion. This time, however, I was innocent of everything except stupidity. They say some people attract trouble, I attract people who attract trouble."



"A man can't understand why a women's handbag is such a sensitive object- almost an extension of her person. I don't fully understand it myself. Maybe it's because we keep so many private intimate possessions in our purses- love letters, cosmetics, jelly doughnuts... Maybe a purse is a symbol of the womb, or something equally Freudian. I can't explain it, but I know I hate the idea of a stranger's hands rummaging in my bag."

-Elizabeth Peters