Well, chicken nut bread, I think I'm an official blogger now. Isn't it just fitting that the night before I have to wake up at 5:30 in the a.m., I have decided to prostitute my thoughts out to the world wide web. Here are my current thoughts -- am I doing this because people I know will read it or am I doing this because I want a venue to vent and venerate my veracious vanity or are the two the same? Ha. Maybe it's because I like to alliterate in a ridiculous manner.

Have you ever put a shirt on and then thrown it off in disgust because you don't want people to think you shop at the Gap even though the shirt is from a thrift store. What possesses one (me) to purchase a shirt that will, in fact, make people think you are a "preppy" and why is that high school word still floating around in my head? /And then you feel bad for judging the people that want to and do shop at the Gap. And you know that that very shirt - that white button-up three-quarter-length-sleeved sorority shirt - will be the only shirt that comes to your rescue when a job interview asks you to wear "business casual." And more importantly, why do I want to look poor to some people but put together and neat to others?

And most importantly, do I truly value poverty or do I just pretend, all the while, going to school to "better myself?" I hope that my motives for becoming a nurse are good - I really want to help people. I also really want to pay off my student loans. Hmmm. And who am I reasoning with here? Myself? God? Anyone that's reading this?

Yep, it's that time of the night when I begin my journey toward sleeplessness. My kitties don't mind b/c they sleep all day and stay up all night, so at least I have two companions in the dark. Yes, my sleeping husband is in the other room and I find comfort in that fact, but I do not understand how he can fall asleep so quickly. He is literally out within a few minutes, if not seconds. I am brushing my teeth, talking to him, taking out my contacts, and then I realize that I have been talking to me and I and myself all along.

I read a couple chapters of Lamotte's Hard Laughter today and I had one of those "one of my heroes isn't perfect" moments. It was hard for me. I realized that the main character, Jennifer, is supposed to be 23 and I truly believed she was in her late thirties. I realized that this author that I so thoroughly enjoy could possibly write something that wasn't completely believable and it set me back. Although this is a personal discovery, I think it might hold up. Does this discovery have merit? Did you feel that Jennifer was indeed a much older character stuck in a 23-year-old body? Mainly this is a question for Kendra (happy birthday) since she'll probably be the first to read this. Anyway, it was like when you find out that your Dad isn't Superman or that your Grammy has a little scandal in her past -- you know the moments when your heroes suddenly become human and it disappoints you a little or a lot.

Thanks a lot for getting me to blog. :) Happy birthday, you artsy fartsy girl, you.

Although the time says 10:05 a.m., it is now 12:31 a.m.