sometimes it's just best to color. too bad all the online coloring pages stink.

good thing dinosaurs are always a safe bet.

Sometimes, you think you know someone. 

And then you find out more. 

That they can be even more

malicious

selfish

low

than one thought previously. 

revelations like this really, really 

hurt. 

Nothing beats a good 'just because I love you' note. 

:)

Writers block stinks.
I stare at the word document.
The cursor blinking.
Staring back at me, intimidating me.
Daring me.
To type something.
To type anything.
Twist the top off a long-neck bottle.
Maybe a little liquid courage is needed
to take on the little blinking bastard.
Writing stinks.
Ironically, my release?
Writing.
This cursor is inviting.
Wishing me to type more.
Begs me to like it.
Allows me to procrastinate even longer.
Only to return to it's Evil Twin.
And resume the staring match.
Beware little cursor.
You'll never win this one.

I worked since the day I turned fifteen.
I get next to no financial support from my parents.
Every cent I borrow from them will be paid back.
With interest.
I'm paying for college out of pocket and racking up the student loans.
But I am not complaining.
I am working towards a better life.
I am changing my life.
I realize there are problems with our government and
the hierarchy in America.
However, I drove past three McDonald's with
"Now Hiring"
signs out front this morning.
Do not tell me there are not jobs.
Do not tell me no one wants to hire you.


Change your own life.

Quit waiting for someone to do it for you.

ten things I have to say to ten different people

1. I've idolized you since I was little. Why do you always have to make things about you?
2. I put on an act that I feel bad for you; I don't. You bring your problems upon yourself and it's not my fault.
3. Thank you. I spent more time in your office than anywhere. You helped me become who I am.
4. I wish I remembered you. Everyone talks about you; I don't know who you are.
5. Please tell me that is not self inflicted. It wouldn't surprise me, but you don't need to do that anymore.
6. You are my hero. I will do everything I can to make sure you live like one someday.
7. You surprise me every single day and I love it.
8. You are an amazing woman. You taught me a lot in one semester.
9. I am tired of your childish behavior. Grow up.
10. I hope I don't let you down.

"If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found." 

~Author Unknown

I used to feel one needed to fully know themselves before he or she could ever really know another person. Now, I'm talking opposite sex here, relationship style, you know, with the 'L' word.... 
I'm cynical. 
I'm skeptical. 
and most of all,
I am logical.
 At least when it comes to protecting myself, emotionally. 
I have always taken the stand that love is not to be taken lightly, and no one under the age of like twenty five could possibly have grown up enough to understand themselves thoroughly before they can try to understand another. 


Recently, I am beginning to see things a little differently. Do I need to know who I am, what I value, what I need to be me? Absolutely. But do I need to know each and every nook and cranny of my mind? Do I need to know why I feel what I feel? No chance.


Pieces of one's self like this, are meant to be discovered by someone else. Someone who can teach you about your self. Someone who can take your hand and look into your eyes and in that moment, you almost feel like he knows more about how to make you happy than you do yourself. 


Think about it for a minute. Adventures are always more fun when you have a friend. Adventures like this need your best friend. Adventures like this will lead to mountains to cross and dirt on your knees from countless falls. Adventures like this need a person to hold your hand and help you over the rocks; a person to pick you up when you stumble and fall. 


Maybe it is not all about independence these days.

It's that time of year again. Time to pull out the clay pigeon thrower. Dig out the coffee cans of leftover shells. 

Shoot for hours.
The shotgun recoiling time and time again into ones shoulder. It's sure to leave a mark.
This year is different though. I'm not shooting with Dad's gun.
I've bought one this year.
(see Harvest post, I emulate my father)
So, naturally, what did I buy? The same gun my daddy has. Remington 11-87 12 ga.
Trusty shotgun, beautiful gun.
All mine.
This was a pricey investment, that is for sure.
Should I have spent that much? Most likely not. But there is something about knowing you earned the money, you decided what you wanted, and you went out and got what you need. I'm beyond excited to take this guy out for a couple hundred round initiation.

Beyond that, I am impatiently waiting for the first three weeks in December. When the countryside has the same level of electricity as harvest time, but a totally different feeling. Blaze orange tromps through the woods. Day after day. The deer are on the move, don't know where to turn. Every step could be their last, and they have no idea. It's an American Tradition and I am proud to be a part of it. I believe I will also be starting a new hunting tradition this year. I'ma gunna go bow hunting. It seems even more thrilling, taking over one more step of control, reverting further back than American Tradition, back to a primal form of hunting. When the hunter can hear the whistle of the arrow through the air, the sound of contact, and the rush of adrenaline.

Daddy's Little Girl

Aww....... harvest. 

the sweet sound of diesel engines roaring across the countryside. 

perhaps one of my favorite times of the year. 

I cannot count the number of times I've slipped up into the buddy seat in the cab of the combine, spending 

hours

riding along with dad. Talking his ear off about everything I think of. 

Then, eventually, settling down into that big drivers seat, wrapping my hand around the propulsion lever. 

My hand appearing so small on the button covered shifter.  

One hand lightly resting on the wheel, the other lowering the head into the rows. 

The corn vanishes into the combine with ease. 

Hard to believe I've ran this beast alone for years. 

Hard to believe Dad is so fluent with all the technology he has incorporated into his farming operation. 

The man who cannot read a text message, has a state of the art monitor, touch screen, more buttons than even I know what to do with. 

This post really is not about me, or harvest, it's about my dad. 

I love my dad. He's a farmer. I used to want to do anything but farm, but the older I get, the more I see how much that lifestyle is me. It's who I am. It's who my daddy raised me to be. And in the spring and fall, that buddy seat time I put in, is about all I get to see of him. And I love to see his face light up when I climb up the ladder and plop down next to him. Gets even brighter when I ask to drive. 

I really am Daddy's Little Girl. 

I emulate my father. 

I want to farm someday. 

I bought the same gun he bought when he was my age. 

I can't help but think he wanted a son; what father doesn't?

But I am sure he's okay with girls. 

Especially cause his girls are like me, who are like him. 

More excited by Guns and Tractors then Shoes and Dresses. 

Always ready to go play in the dirt with a big red toy. 

Thanks daddy, for making me who I am today.