neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring!

Yep. I think the title pretty much says it all. I can stop writing now.

But I won't, not just yet. In case you're wondering: yes, that is a quote. It's from A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, one of my favorite authors. I love Madeleine simply because she's real. Her characters are real. Real people that screw up and are confused and want to do the right thing but don't always know how. (The flying unicorns and singing stars and strange entities like It are just a bonus.)

"Mom," Meg Murry says, whining a little. "Charles Wallace says I'm neither one thing nor the other--neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring!"
"Who cares?" says Calvin. "You're Meg, aren't you?"

Sometimes I'm a lot like Meg. Even though logically we know that people don't fit neatly into pigeonholes, we still try. We still find it confusing or disheartening when we can't fit ourselves into some tidy category. I get frustrated, feeling that I fit nowhere.

Logically, no one "fits." I know, I know! Since when are emotions always logical? "I'm neither one thing nor the other!" I cry with Meg.

Who cares? I'm me. Me, with all my diverse bits and pieces. Deep down, I know that I am better off this way. God made me this way, and he's not in the habit of screwing up. And I do belong. I belong to him.

kinda queasy

Well, sports fans, I just submitted my first grad school application. Gulp. I feel sort of like that time I went to prom by myself...
Ha ha. Ok, not that bad.

I should find a way to post my writing sample for y'all to see. It is definitely the largest cohesive chuck of polished writing I've ever done. 40 pages! Hopefully it's good. To be honest, I've read it so many times I don't even know. Well, except for that new ending I stuck in at five o'clock yesterday...

Yeah, guess what I did all weekend. Yep. Nothing but. Ok, so almost nothing but. I did get out for church and coffee and powerflex (gar!), thankfully, or I would have gone mad. But now it's done. It's out of my hands.

Where's the Tums?

shhh! it's a secret!

Shh! Quiet! Come here--closer, closer. Want to know a secret? Do you? Come under the table with me, and I'll tell you. Oops--watch your head. Shh. Ready?

Deep down inside, I'm a romantic. Gasp! Shock!

It's true. I may not cry during movies, or particularly like babies, or send 'touching' greeting cards, but I'm vulnerable to romance nonetheless.

This very morning, as I backed the car out of my garage at 7:39, I was positively floored. The sun wasn't quite up yet, so everything was that silvery gray color--except for the white, white snow. I'd say six fresh inches. As my little Cavalier pushed its way down my long gravel driveway, the snow was deep enough to crest over my hood, sending silvery white waves of flakes up before me. It was lovely.

And then I noticed the trees.

The lower half of my driveway is wooded on both sides, and this morning it was a fairy land. Every branch of every tree was coating with several inches of snow, all white and graceful and perfectly still.

I had to stop the car. My heart practically pounded with the force of all that beauty. I guess I'm not always so tough, after all.