this one summer day.

 photo IMG_5687 copy_zpswoox99pk.jpg photo IMG_5683 copy_zpsqsuzynjr.jpg

Today when I left my house and entered this park, my internal eyes were zoomed in on myself like a microscope. It's by no means the first time I've been self-absorbed, but it's one of the more acute days I've ever had, and the only way I knew how to escape was to get out. Get out of the house, out of my head, and stare at something different -- other then myself and what I didn't want to see. But the truth is, I could barely see anything around me. I couldn't see the people I was passing. I couldn't see the trees, the water. I was mentally blinded by my own self.

The good news is, when I exited that park, I had new eyes. 

That's the best way I can describe it. I've never needed new eyes so badly in my life, and no one else could give them to to me, other then Jesus. Because as I walked out, I wasn't looking at myself anymore, but Him. Just staring at Him. There's a freedom at looking at the cross that is so much bigger than oneself, than ones past or future, that is all-encompassing, and it's the only real freedom I've ever known. It's the only real purpose I've ever known. I don't understand how I can lose sight of it so repeatedly, but I have comfort in knowing He's never letting me go, even when I do.

p.s. been a while since a post like this, hah.

edit: I felt a piercing need to add to this post the day after writing it, just to clarify my own ramblings for myself (and anyone who actually reads this). It bothered me that the ending of this post left off on such a high note, because the reality of today is that high note has already gone a little flat. That one documented good day up above is the consequence of unnumbered lousy days. My helpless pride winces at the knowledge that the only pathway to a fuller revelation of Love is a clearer exposing of my wanton sin -- so here's that appropriate, discouraging, and rather paradoxical ending.


Gritty, grainy, hahahaha.

No one tells you how hard it is to take a decent webcam selfie. I admit to being very judgmental towards those gorgeous girls who take them constantly and look stunning. However, after taking nearly fifty (no shame) and the most decent one being the picture above -- props to them. Hah. I don't know how they do it. I'll just make the excuse it's a late Sunday night, and all semblances of makeup are deteriorating rapidly.

Also, I'm holding a very random and even bad sketch in my hand, but since the general material and photo quality of the blog is deteriorating, might as well not care anymore.

This may sound strange, but I think it may be good that I'm not so picky about what I post anymore. This is just gritty life, right here (to match the grainy photo quality).

You're welcome. Judge away at the selfie (I would, too).


some class work.

 photo IMG_5395_zpsfgtllalk.jpg
tape and oil pastels
 photo IMG_4813 copy_zpsg7wooy4u.jpg
india ink
 photo IMG_5406 copy_zpsnxdxbbam.jpg
collage: watercolors, acrylic, magazines, india ink, foil, and cardstock

Here are a few projects from my Design I class this past semester.

It's still a struggle for me to merge classes like this with art I want to produce on my own time, and it's easy for class projects to feel forced and very unlike me.

However, I learned a lot. I enjoyed it quite a bit. And here are a few favorites.


Thirsty thoughts.

It's about 1am, and I'm feeling severely dehydrated which spurred my decision to down a generic ice-cream sandwich I found in the freezer with the vain hopes of it quenching my thirst. It didn't. I'm still thirsty, so why not write a blog post about my delirious morning thoughts.

Thunder is roaring outside, and rain is making the pleasant sound it does alongside the flashes and booms (which isn't helping my case for thirst).

Still, the main thought intercepting all thoughts thoughts of mine currently is this one: why on earth can't I focus my mind on one blasted thing at a time?

It's hard to verbalize, but I keep thinking about a quote or line I heard about Emma Woodhouse (it's amazing how engrained these classics are in my mushy mind) never being able to set her mind on one task or talent, thus making her mediocre in all things rather than great at one single thing.

Goodness forbid I compare myself to a starlet of English Literature, but what I'm trying to get to is this: I can't focus on one thing, one skill, one hobby. In high school I wanted to be a blogger, a writer, a designer. Presently, after years of fiddling with most hobbies I've had a relative interest in, I still can't decide. Can't narrow it down. I flit from one hobby to the other depending on what my eye lands on in Pinterest that day. Awful, isn't it?

Thankfully, there is a freedom for experimentation that comes with college, but I feel after years, it's time to hone in on a single thing. I want to diligently pursue one thing so I can actually, finally, fantastically do one thing marginally well.

Maybe I just need to unplug and start really thinking about what I want to do rather than look at others are doing. I don't know.

Perhaps I'm doomed to Emma Woodhouse's fate of mediocrity. Then comes the question of why I fear mediocrity so much?

That one's for another post, though.

This thirst is quite unbearable.