God. I'm not very good at this.

Happy days are truly here again. Leaves are falling and crunching beneath my feet. It's a whole new season. A brand new phase of nature, another part of the wheel that turns, turns, turns. And nothing could make me happier. Forget your troubles and just get happy. You better chase your blues away. Shout hallelujah. Happy times, Happy nights. Happy days are here again.

I have a busy couple of weeks and a lot of things that I'd like to get myself involved in. I just need to find the energy and time. I nap too much. While everyone is doing whatever they do during the day, I've stayed in my bed. I want to learn martial arts. I want to do yoga and FEEEEEL WITH IT again. I need to learn to cook. I need to run. I need to tire out my restless body and rejuvenate my mind. I feel dizzy sometimes and lose my place in thoughts. I feel like sometimes my brain doesn't think in complete sentences. I just grab at sporadic ideas and feelings, hoping that it comes out making any sense. I need to quicken my pace during the day and slow myself during the nights. Lately, it's been the opposite. And I get confused. I'm going to commit myself to things and allow this new season to energize me and set me walking and hoping and loving. My life is reflected in the nature this year. And it is truly beautiful and I've always been secretly partial to Fall. This is when I keep songs in my heart and become anxious for a velvety Elvis to return into my life. I will be brave and boisterous and loud with love. I will hold close the ambling wind and rain, and night chills that send you to the warmth and comfort of friends and loved ones. Everyone is cold, but together we can revel in the warmth of our joy and goodness. This season is made for friends and lovers.

In short, there will be bailey's in my coffee/hot chocolate. And I'd love to pour you a mug, and I'll even add a few marshmellows.

Warmly and with all of my little heart,
Amanda

God. I'm not very good at this.

a good day

I feel like I've been robbed of so much as a girl growing up. And, of course, I blame my mother. She is conservative in everything. I think it happened in her early forties because I sense that she was a lot of fun at one time in her life. The shift must have occurred when I was a wee ten years old. I was entering the junior's section of my life, time to wear a bra and get cute panties. Right? Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the cute panties never revealed themselves. Instead my mother continued to purchase the "Joe Boxer" brand of panty, the ones with big yellow smiley faces on the ass, winking at your frowned/creeped out refection in the mirror. They rose high up above the belly button and stretched up the rib cage. The sizes were too big and the colors muted all on the own, to ugly light lavenders and urine yellows and duck poop greens. It was unattractive to me, to the world, and especially to the opposite sex. Luckily, it wasn't until much later (this year) that I had a boyfriend refer to my underwear as "GPs." GPs? What? Me? Granny Panties? It can't be. It was true. It had even moved on into "GPPs"...my "granny period panties," for when I'm banished to the red tent. Had it really come to this? But yes, it was so. I missed that stage in early womanhood, when the girl is taken by her mother to buy tasteful but more mature, age appropriate panties. In other words, the matriarch unveils to the frail girl with the vulture-like stance (me), the holy mecca of WOMANHOOD!,...Victoria's Secret.

It may not seem like a big deal, but I went there for the FIRST time yesterday. And it was a visceral, if not, sweaty experience. I spent fifty dollars on purely underwear and have never felt better about a purchase. Yesterday I wore a bright blue thong with the word HAPPY embroidered in rhinestones on the top. W...t...f....something tells me that I'm compensating for the drabness of my earlier undergarments. I went crazy! I saw the 5 for 25 deal and I asked the woman, "Can I do 10 for 50, is that okay?!" I'm panting and my eyes are bloodshot and tears of gladness streak down my face. She said, "Yeah, I guess so. If you want to." I wanted to cry in the beauty of it all: the bright pinks and little hearts, the tiny black ones with tiny pink bows, every animal print alive, and drawers and drawers of hipsters, thongs, and bikinis. I wanted it all, but I settled on 10 winners, of all different types, colors, and levels of skankiness. I had a good day. And I know exactly where I'm going if I have bad day. There is nothing like a pair of fresh, sexified panties to make me feel like a woman again.

For those just visiting my site,

I will say, Welcome. I've never actually specified my intentions for this blog, except that I'm learning to write again. Cataloging and exploring my day and experiences, whether I want to or not. I stem from the xanga generation, which then quickly deteriorated into facebook, where stalking was the primary activity before sharing your day.

Well, today has been wonderful so far, and it's only eleven thirty. I found my friends' blogs, all of them SO appropriately named for their personalities, by the way. I listened to good music. Snuggled with my boyfriend, Graham, before he went to work. We recently had a really big drunken talk about our futures together, our exes, our fears. It needed to happen, but the anxiety of knowing that we could be apart for two or so years is still daunting. It's an impending feeling of "Oh shit. Now we have to say goodbye." And it's gonna creep up on me because I don't want to think about it. I've finally found something so good, so right in this ugly town, I've drowned in assholes for four years, and now I have to leave it? Turn my back and pretend that it never happened? How?