Exactly where we're from

I have a (not so) secret love for Dashboard Confessional. I don't know what it is, but somehow the lyrics and pleading melodies make me feel like an adolescent boy with a pining heart. I guess I dig the nearly impossible feeling I get listening to "Hands Down" or "So Long, So Long." Oh well. There we are. I won't ever call it a guilty pleasure, because, frankly, I don't feel guilty for saying that out loud. Just wanted to clear the air. Oh, I also watch soap operas (I like to call'em stories) and love Cheetos. Maybe people should throw everything they know about me out the proverbial window, or hell, throw it out a literal window.

Sigh. I promised myself I'd get back to writing, so for now, this place will once again be my dumping ground. I hate to say it will be a diary or journal, but until I figure out something decent to write about, it's gonna be the brain drain.

What's the update here? Job's good and emotionally exhausting much of the time, baking has slowed way down, I still listen to sad bastard music pretty much every day, and I actually read one of those Swedish Girl Who Did the Thing with the Thing books. Who knew financial journalism could be intriguing?

While my time in the South has been life-altering in the best ways (I feel content with being a Southern girl and I finally feel...cool.), the West tugs at my innermost self, the part of my heart or soul or guts or some unnamed something that grounds me. I'm beginning to lose my footing here and this time I feel like I'm choosing it. Last time the world turned upside down was because I felt loss and my grief overtook me, shoving me face first into the muck of myself. This time around, though, I feel ready to face whatever is around the corner. Perhaps it's just a stone's thrown from the Ssip, perhaps it's time to bathe in the Pacific again, but whatever it is, I'm wrapped up in its embrace already.