I should warn you now that this post is a long, honest, unedited story about my life over this last year. I have spent a lot of time debating about just how much information to put in here and finally decided on all of it, because that is what I felt would help me most with recovery (I say why near the end of this post). But reading this could leave you knowing a lot more about me then you ever wanted to, and I can pretty much guarantee that after this you won't be able to look at me the same again. So if you would rather your idea of me and who I am not change (and if that's the case I completely understand) I advise you to stop reading now.

Growing up there were many things I was afraid of becoming in life and I often made decisions to avoid those possibilities turning into reality. Knowing I have an addictive personality, I've never picked up a cigarette, avoided drugs at all costs, and decided my freshman year of college that I would never drink alcohol. When it came to eating disorders I never thought that would be an issue for me. I always said I could never become anorexic because I loved food to much, and I could never be bulimic because the thought of throwing up was just repulsive. I never imagined that when it came to eating disorders it wasn't as simple as just eating food. I never knew that along with the absolute terror that came with eating other factors came into play as well. Like the thrill you get when you step on the scale to see that your weight has gone down again which gave me an addictive rush, more powerful than anything else I have ever experienced. I never knew that what eating disorders are really about is control. That denying yourself certain foods, and only letting yourself have others in certain amounts or on certain days, and exercising regardless of weather or health or desire, gives a person a sense that they are in control of their lives. In reality though what an eating disorder does is turn one’s life into chaos and destruction.

It's hard for me pinpoint exactly when anorexia nervosa became part of my life. I go back in forth trying to decide where exactly my desire to lead a healthy life transformed into this god awful disease. I think that for most of 2013 I was doing ok. I had some habits that maybe were a bit questionable and I definitely lost a lot of weight, but I was spontaneous, felt good, and could indulge on food every now and then without experiencing a panic attack. The last couple months of the year I was right on the edge of the disease, and then January happened and I toppled right over. I had just said goodbye to the people I love most in the world and the place that means more to me than anything without knowing when I would see family or Alaska again. Money always being an issue I was so worried about bills that I kept the heat in my apartment so low I was always freezing. And I was growing increasingly disenchanted with my job. I think all of these factors combined allowed for a disease to sneak in and take hold of all my thoughts and actions.  I had no idea at the time. I knew my weight had been dropping and that it had dipped below a healthy number; however I thought that it was fine, that I was in control and that when the time of my choosing came I could easily add a few pounds. But then I tried and it didn't turn out so well.

It happened in April. I knew I was flying to Disneyworld in a few weeks and I knew I would probably be too hot to wear anything but t-shirts and capris. I knew that those clothes would highlight just how underweight I was, knew that if anyone glimpsed my arms as they currently were it would be a dead giveaway that something was wrong. So I added high calorie foods (peanut butter mainly) to gain. I did, each week I stepped on the scale to find my weight had gone up a pound sometimes two. I didn't like it but tried to console the unhappy thoughts by telling myself it was necessary. By the time I stepped on the plane to Florida I was still underweight but not so much so that most people would notice. The trip itself was a blast, but food was a constant issue for me throughout. There was nothing there that was "healthy" and while I made it through the dinners by just picking the healthiest things I could find, I ended up having breakfast in my room with fruit I bought from the hotel store and nuts and peanut butter I brought from home, and lunch was made up a few light snacks throughout the day. I still felt like I had overdone it, eaten too much, worked out too little (I should add that I woke up early every day to go use the hotel gym, and then spent the afternoons walking around the parks so yeah...), so my first two days back at home I ate very little. When I next weighed myself I found I had actually lost some weight. I was elated and wanted to keep going at which point things got really bad. This was when I admitted to myself that I was sick, that I had an eating disorder, and that my life was completely out of my control. 

I tried several more times after that to gain weight. I'd plan for one more week, one more low weight and then I would stop. On the predetermined day I would wake up full of enthusiasm, but by the following night I would be back to my old ways. And looking back now, even those "first" days I barely ate at all. My disorder wasn't just not eating; exercise played a central role as well. What started out as a  20-30 minute workout a few days a week with short hikes on the weekends eventually turned into intense workouts of at least 40 minutes a day, hikes on the weekends lasting 1-2 hours, and 30-40 minute walks through Brunswick in the evenings. I stood as much as possible because I knew it burned more calories than sitting. I was always exhausted but I never let myself go to bed early because laying down long enough for me to get a decent night sleep meant less time for me to up and moving which was less time to burn more calories. It's kind of amazing that I could do all that exercise considering how physically, mentally and emotionally drained I was all the time. There were times I would get home and sit in my car for 10-15 minutes because the thought of climbing three flights of stairs to my apartment was just too much. But as soon as I did get inside my door the workout clothes came on and the exercise DVD’s came out.

I want to say that none of this was because I thought I was overweight. I knew that my weight was too low. This didn't go on because I liked the way I looked either because I didn't. I hadn't always been happy with my body before but I had more or less accepted it. This whole last year I would look at the mirror and cringe. I missed my curves, I wanted them back but the disorder wouldn't allow it.

I also should say that despite my disorder I wasn’t completely miserable this entire year. I am someone who does not like to be unhappy and therefore usually looks for the brightness surrounding me. I had thousands of wonderful moments this year, was surrounded by people I love, and (with the exception of food related things) never lost site of the small simple things in life that have always brought me joy. It is just as time passed the disorder overshadowed all of that.

As is usually the case with eating disorders, everything just continued to get worse. I started trying to skip meals and whenever I failed hated myself for my weakness. I'd work out at least 1 1/2 hours a day and that still didn't seem like enough. There were some days I would be up working, volunteering, cleaning, hiking, running errands, working out etc... and not have eaten anything for 7, 8 sometimes 9 hours.  Every happy thought I had was interrupted by thoughts of food, I was freezing beyond belief even when it was 80 degrees outside, I felt trapped, scared, ashamed and confused. I felt myself growing weaker and I was terrified. I so desperately wanted help but something always held me back from saying anything to anyone. I was afraid of admitting what I'd let happen to myself. I was ashamed that I wasn't strong enough to beat it on my own. And there was a part of me that didn't want to recover; something that I now know was the disorder. There were a few times I'd thought of looking up resources for help online. But I was too afraid I'd actually stumble into something that would help support and encourage my eating disorder rather than me. There was still enough of my own strength left to keep me from wanting that to happen so I'd always held off. 

When my mom's trip to Maine came closer and closer to being reality both I and my eating disorder knew she would see how bad I was. I desperately wanted her to notice and for her to help me out of this mire I'd found myself in. My disorder had other things in mind. Through these two tangled mindsets I tried to gain weight before she came so that she wouldn't see, which would allow me to go back to my disorder behaviors once she left, but even with the threat of discovery I wasn't able to do it. The thought of eating any large amount of food and any food that wasn't fresh organic fruits and vegetables terrified me. The idea of stepping on the scale to see that the number had gone up was paralyzing. I couldn't change anything and when the day came that her plane landed in Portland I had actually lost even more weight.

I don't know if she got off the plane and instantly knew, or if she just suspected and her observations over the next couple days (because I couldn't even eat much with her there) confirmed what she thought. She flew in on Monday and that Saturday morning informed me we were going to have a serious talk. Even though for months I'd wanted help, had wished so badly that someone would just take me by the arm and tell me that I was not ok and that I was going to stop what i was doing, I still put up a fight. Or rather the eating disorder did. I yelled and threatened to leave and go do my own thing that day but thank God I have a mother who is not easily dissuaded. I won't go into detail but let’s just say she convinced me that I needed to at least stay there and let her talk. Still even then I was too scared, ashamed, confused and angry to look at her. I just stood and looked at the floor the whole time. Everything she said though was something I needed to hear and at the end we'd agreed that I would get help starting Monday.

Out of the treatment options my mom discussed with me the New England Eating Disorder program or NEEDs seemed the best choice for me. Patients in the program are initially admitted for "partial hospitalization" which means that Monday through Friday from 7-3:30pm they are at the hospital. The days are spent engaging in various kinds of group therapy as well as eating two meals and two snacks. Once the patient's health is stable and they've made progress in therapy they are discharged to the "intensive outpatient program" or IOP. At this stage patients come for half days 2-5 days per week and bring one meal with them to eat. When my mom explained it all to me she made it seem certain that I would definitely be admitted to the partial program, but I wasn't so sure.

On Monday morning we called and left a message explaining that I wanted to come in for an assessment. A couple hours later I got a call back from their intake nurse and the next 30 minutes was the toughest phone call in my life. Like I've said, I knew then that I had a problem but I had never actually said it out loud. Even that Saturday when my mom forced the issue she had done all the talking. When their intake nurse asked me exactly what my problem was saying the words "I am anorexic" was the hardest thing I have ever had to say. On Tuesday at 7:30am I walked into Mercy Hospital for my assessment at the NEEDS. I met with one of the therapists in the program and spent the next 40 minutes discussing everything involved with my disorder and everything in my life that could have led to it. She made the official diagnosis and then met with the programs doctor to discuss treatment recommendations. Based on what the therapist said I was a definite candidate for partial hospitalization and I was all set to do that after my trip to Utah.

Apparently though my physical and mental health were in serious enough jeopardy that the doctor had me admitted that day. In the course of an hour I had lost my trip to Utah, been put on disability from work, been told that my physical activity was limited to me climbing the steps to and from my apartment only once a day (so I could get to the hospital), and that caffeine was not allowed while I was in the program. I faced a barrage of questions about my physical history, had blood drawn for testing, and an EKG was performed to assess possible damage to my heart (thankfully there was none). I found out a few weeks later that I was more than 20% below what my healthy weight range was.

I don't think I could ever fully express the complete and utter shame I felt at that moment. Something that we are told continuously in the program is that what has happened is not our fault. We are told a disease has snuck into our brain and taken over our mind and that we are no more to blame than anyone else with any kind of mental disorder. It's easier to know that though then to believe it. And even now two months later I still feel some shame, and maybe I always will.

For the next few weeks my days were spent in the hospital and my nights and weekends were a constant battle of the minds (well just my mind) to stay calm and not move too much. My mom extended her trip to stay until she could fly my sister to Maine to be my support person, and then when Kairi left my best friend came to fill that role. The three of them (and Stephanie's daughter Faith), made the nights and weekends bearable. They made eating food easier, they made not exercising possible, they made it easier for me to accept the idea that I was not a weak, awful, damaged person. They made me feel as normal it was possible for me to be at that time. 

The days at the hospital for the most part were not all together horrible but they weren't particularly thrilling either. We did have to spend the whole day sitting which felt like torture, and the meals we had to eat were so huge that I was uncomfortably full all the time. In between meal times we had various group sessions throughout the day with different therapists. Some were serious, insightful, and tough to work through; others were fun and relaxing. There were days I was happy and felt upbeat and hopeful about recovery and others where I'd never felt more lost and spent a good part of the day crying. During group therapy we talked a lot about "the voices" of our disorder telling us what to do. I often use that phrase as well, but really it's just one voice, a single personality. I've named my disorder - many of the other people there did as well - and that act alone made it so much easier to disassociate who I truly am from the disorder and her behaviors. 

While the meal normalization and therapy was unbelievably good for me, in a way what helped just as much was being surrounded by individuals who were going through the same thing I was. Their disorders might not be the same, might have been going on for years, they might be older or younger, but they all knew what it was like to be completely taken over by something a thousand times stronger than you and that powerless feeling that comes with it. I was in a group of people who understood what it was like to wearing multiple layers in 70 degree weather and still be freezing. Who knew what it was like to feel their heart working harder than it ever should have been asked to. Who knew what it was like to wake up more tired than one could possibly imagine but still have to push their body through another couple workouts. I was surrounded by others who knew what it was like to lose them self and not believe that finding their way back was possible.

There are several things I had to learn at Mercy. I had to learn how to show compassion to myself. I had to learn that it's not only ok to be weak sometimes but to show that weakness, and to allow others to be strong for me. I have learned that it is ok to actually sit and do nothing. I have learned that you have to eat a shocking amount of food not just to gain weight but to maintain it. I've had to learn it's ok to ask for help. I've had to learn, and learn to accept, that I can no longer be the true introvert I have always been because doing so will make it so much easier for the disorder to come back and take over. This last bit, the part where I have to give up a core element of who I truly am, was - and still is - the hardest part for me to accept.

I was a patient in the partial program for three weeks and one day. I ate more food in those three weeks then I probably had eaten the previous 3 months, I gained a lot, and learned a lot, and fought constantly. After the partial program I attended IOP for three weeks and officially discharged on Friday, November 28th. On my very last day they asked me what I would miss most about the program, and I said it would be being around people who understood the hell eating disorders can put one through either because they had gone through it themselves or because they'd spent years working with those who had. When they asked what I would miss the least my answer was easy and immediate and said I couldn't wait to have caffeine again. 

Going through treatment for recovery does not mean that you are completely cured and immediately back to your old self.  I have a therapist in Portland that I see every week, and I go to my Dr for weekly weight checks. The voices and urges are still there all the time, but the more I fight them and refuse to give in to what they want the quieter they become - the easier they are to ignore. But when one tactic doesn't work another one comes. In the course of a week I experienced my disorder turning into a train and woke up with it slamming into me, leaving me in shambles the rest of the day. Next it turned into a quiet voice sweetly tempting me with just how easy it would be for me to give in, to go back to the way it was before, so much easier then this fight I'll have for who knows how long. The thought of that fight left me so tired I could barely stand. And, in a second, it went from quiet and calm to a storm raging with every fear and trigger imaginable so strong that I found myself in a full scale panic attack crying on the floor.

I also struggle with how I look now more than I ever in my life. Fairly early into the program I could feel the weight gain and my disorder started to panic. Clothes that for months had always been loose started to feel tighter and I was constantly uncomfortable. I couldn't face wearing jeans anymore and switched over to yoga pants. Even now I avoid jeans as much as possible. And even though when at my lowest weight I didn't like how I looked my disorder sure did, and every day is a battle between accepting what is healthy for me and what is comfortable for me. Those two things are definitely not the same. Some days aren't quite so bad, and other days I constantly feel huge, unattractive and all around awful. The negative thoughts about how I look are worse now, because it is no longer just me looking in the mirror but my disorder and the voices that come with it. I carry with me the memory that I was much smaller and how that felt. It might not have been healthy, but that is sometimes a hard fact to accept.

A normal day for me now is one that has some ups and many downs. I still have to eat what feels like a ridiculous amount of food so that I don't lose weight, I am always full, and every day is a challenge to keep eating the foods that scare me. I'm allowed a short walk every day, but have to work hard to ensure that I don't do much else. It will be months before I'm allowed to do any type of serious exercise which just sucks. Every day I have to double check myself to make sure that the thoughts of what I want to do and the actions I take are my own and not the disorders trying to trick me. Do I really want to go for a walk, or does the disorder? Am I choosing to not have something as part of my meal because I'm truly not in the mood for it, or is because the disorder finds it threatening? It’s an effort to not get online and search for the best foods to help you lose weight, or the top ways to boost your metabolistm. It is a constant never ending fight. I always have to be on guard to make sure that I don't slip, and it's exhausting. 

Out of everything I have experienced in my life - college, driving across the country, finding my way in Maine, watching my parent’s battle cancer, and losing my dad, this is the hardest thing that I have had to handle. I think it is partly because, unlike all those other things, there is no way to escape from it. I can't take a break and go relax and regroup, because the disorder is in my mind, and where I go it follows. I hate it. 

I want to be able to trust myself again. I want be able to tell when I'm hungry and when I'm not – and to feed myself if I am. I am tired of eating anything "unhealthy" and feeling guilty about it afterward. I still want to be someone who enjoys a huge bowl of fresh veggies and loves apples more than just about anything. But I also want to be the kind of girl who thinks it’s ok to indulge in a whole pint of gelato every now and then, or makes chocolate chip cookies and eats half the dough without a second thought.  I want to go back to being someone who only weighs myself at doctor’s visits and really doesn’t care what that number is any other time. I want to feel comfortable in my own skin, and comfortable in the clothes I have. I can only hope that with time these things will come, and I will be able to fully accept myself again.

Thankfully, there are definitely aspects of recovery that are good and I cling to those things to see me through the tough moments. I have so much more energy. I laugh more and each new day brings more happiness than the one before. I can focus better. Constant thoughts of food have been replaced by my old distractions. I no longer shrink from the cold but rejoice in it.  My arms actually look normal again. My hair, which had started to grow thinner, has regained its original luster. It is a relief to no longer be responsible for keeping track of my weight. I am starting to enjoy my lazy weekend mornings. I let myself have peanut butter every day now rather than just the weekends. I am cooking new recipes that I've been wanting to try for months. I can have caffeine again and enjoy coffee now each day more than I ever have before! Chocolate is once more a daily part of my life! The fear that used to underlie everything I did, which was my body wondering when it will get fed,  has been replaced by a calm because even though my mind is still scared my body knows it will get what it needs. 

There are tangible things I can hold on to as well that give me strength. After a particularly bad day for me one of the therapists at Mercy made the comment that we were "Recovery Warriors". I liked that term so much that I have wanted it on a t-shirt with a jar of peanut butter (I chose that because it’s a high calorie healthy food, a favorite that is also a fear food, and I’ve eaten a ton of it since 10/21 so it covers all the bases). I never got around to getting that shirt, but one of the other patients at Mercy made me a bracelet with those words and I wear it every day. When a patient is discharged from the partial program we get a silver pin to symbolize the effort and fight we have put into recovery. Mine is a hummingbird and I have it pinned to a card that is taped to my kitchen cabinet. In a previous post I showed off my “Say Yes To” sign that I was inspired to make by one I saw at Mercy and I have that taped to my cabinet as well. I have cards and letters from family and friends that help me through rough moments simply by picking them and holding them in my hand. These physical objects have been vital in my recovery; I am very grateful to have them.

And then there have been the people. I have mentioned before my mom, sister and best friend, but they have not been the only ones that have been there with me these last two months. My family, the few friends I have told, the staff at Mercy and the other patients, they have been there with hugs when I was drowning, words of support at my lowest moments, and faith in myself when I no longer had any. My health today would not have been possible without them. There were other people too who, even though they didn't know the details, knew something was going on and found small ways to show their love and support as well. Those moments definitely brought brightness to many dark days.

A few days before I was discharged from partial hospitalization I realized that this last year I wasn't really alive. I was a shadow, an echo of who I was - of who I am. It was a life that no one should have to experience. It was something I couldn't control, couldn't stop on my own. That is one of the scariest things about eating disorders that the person becomes completely trapped by their own mind and is usually powerless to overcome it alone. It is also very possible that they don’t even realize they have a disorder, they might think that they are perfectly fine. So please if any of you suspect that someone you know might be suffering from an eating disorder please say something to them. If it's someone you don't know very well and therefore don't feel comfortable, or right, talking to them about it then find someone who knows them well who can. And if and when you do bring it up don't let them brush you off. I'd wanted someone to say something for months, but even when it finally happened it took my mom threatening me to get me to stay and listen. The doctor at Mercy often said that a single patient's eating disorder was stronger then everyone in the room combined, and that person will need you to have an iron will to help them find their strength to beat it.

There are a few reasons why I've taken so long to tell everyone. One was that I just needed the time to write this all up in the most true way possible. What you are reading now still doesn't seem like enough, but after two months of working on this I needed to be done. The main reason though was because telling everyone scared me. I am still having a hard time getting rid of the shame, and giving people so much insight into my life has always made me nervous. The fact that this post opens the door to the darkest area of my life is frightening. But it's for that reason that I am not only telling you all, but giving you so much detail. I am tired of being afraid and I refuse to let my fears control my life. I recently saw the words "to write is to be vulnerable". That is true, and that it was I'm doing right now. It is something I have guarded myself against my entire life, but I can't do that anymore.

Keeping with that line of thinking, if there is anything you want to know that I haven't written about here please ask. Don’t worry that you would be too nosy, don’t worry about whether you know me well enough; don’t worry that a question would make me uncomfortable. Not only will talking about this benefit me and my recovery, but as much as possible I want to help dispel all the misconceptions and preconceived ideas of what eating disorders are. The one way I know I how to do that is by sharing my experience with others.

I am posting this blog on the last day of 2014 because opening up to everyone the truth of all that has happened gives me more strength, excitement and hope for the year to come. My time in Maine is coming closer to an end, and I want to spend every last second of it living. I want my last memories to be happy ones. I love this state and I want enjoy the places I love most, and have as much fun as possible with the friends I've made. I want to make new friends and explore new places. I want adventure and spontaneity and laughter and joy. I want to be free. I want to be fearless. I want to be me.

My Maine Christmas

Tomorrow will be my fourth Christmas since moving to Maine, but the first year I will actually spend the holiday in this state. I've known pretty much since last Christmas that this year instead of travelling to see family I would be staying here, and I was fairly excited about it. I wanted to have one Maine Christmas experience and since I am most likely moving next fall I knew this was my last chance. But about the first week of December I realized I had underestimated just how homesick I would become and how quickly that feeling could drain away my excitement for the holiday. A year ago I was getting ready to go home. I was going to spend Christmas in Alaska with my mom and sisters, I was going to watch my little sister get married, I felt great about life, and I had no idea, not even an inkling, of all that would transpire the following year. At that time I felt on top of the world. With those memories swirling around in my head, and the effects of the last year still weighing on my mind I started to feel a little overturned.

With my homesickness kicking into overdrive I decided that, since there was no way I was going home this year,  I needed to do something that would cheer me up and put me back into the Christmas spirit. So I asked myself "What never fails to make me happy?". The answer was pretty immediate and one that should surprise no one - Harry Potter of course!  Now let me stop right here and say to anyone who might be wondering, yes I do realize I can be slightly ridiculous with my level of Harry Potter obsession, but frankly I really don't care.

Once I had decided that I was going to have  Harry Potter Christmas I began racking my brain to see what easy, fun, cheap options there were out there to bring my vision to fruition. I already had a Gryffindor shirt, a Hogwarts blanket, and Harry Potter jewelry but I definitely wanted more. I found a few good ideas and well, here are the results...

First things first was decorating the tree, or should I say trees since I have two small trees rather than one large one. I decided  instead of my normal snowflake tree toppers that Sorting Hats were the way to go, so I whipped up a couple of those.  Afterwards I crocheted a couple of Gryffindor and Slytherin house tree scarves and wrapped them around the top (if anyone is wondering why I chose Slytherin it's simply because those were the colors of yarn I already had). They looked good, but I still thought there was something missing...and then I found it...a little white owl. Perched atop one of the hats my tree transformation was complete!

I also made some very cool wrapping paper for gifts - now who wouldn't want to get something with Owl Post stamped on it?!?

And then on to my FAVORITE project and new apartment decoration...Hanging Candles!! These were surprisingly easy to make and super simple to hang up (although the kitten climbing up my leg in an attempt to attack them made that last bit a little difficult). They aren't quite as magical as the real thing, but they are pretty close and every time I look at them I smile. There is a really, really good chance that these will remain up until the day I move out of this apartment. :)







When I first came up with this idea I had asked my best friend for some craft suggestions. Not only did she give me some, but being the awesome best friend who supports my Harry Potter craziness, she sent me some as well....

Today should be a rather enjoyable Christmas Eve. I'm in the midst of a Harry Potter marathon, and plan to spend the day watching movies, baking goodies, and crafting. I'm drinking some of my favorite coffee, Christmas music is playing, I have purring kittens wandering about, and happiness tomorrow to look forward to. I have definitely rekindled the Christmas glow and excitement that I was looking for!!

Miscellaneous Happiness

I think I have done more writing in the last two months then I have in the previous two years. Some of that writing will make it's way on this blog at some point but it's not quite ready yet. Today I'm taking a short break and just sharing with you some words, images and links that have made their way into my life this week....

First is a picture my best friend shared with me. It speaks to that part of me which has always been drawn to magic, fairytales, and the night sky...

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And then there was this article I found while scrolling through NPR.  I love history and I love NPR and I especially love when NPR brings those two things together!

http://www.npr.org/blogs/theprotojournalist/2014/12/15/370323910/speed-dating-in-the-19th-century

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One of my favorite discoveries this week is the Serial podcast produced by This American Life (another one of my favorites). I listened to the first episode on Monday, and the next four last night. I have no doubt that tonight I will be listening again!

http://serialpodcast.org/

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Next is something I am really excited about, because I am a complete nerd who loves libraries! The Brooklyn Public Library has a form on their website that you can fill out on the books, authors and genres you love and those you don't. A librarian will then take that form and send you a list of recommended books based on the information you gave them. It takes a few weeks but you will get a response, and I know it's an actual librarian sending it because she sent a follow up e-mail to correct a spelling mistake she had made in the first one.
Here was my list:

Room with a View by E.M. Forster
The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater
The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly
Darkfever by Karen Marie Moning
The Memoirs of Mary Queen of Scots by Carolly Erickson

Since I just started reading Game of Thrones by George RR Martin (I just watched season 1 and am now addicted), it will be a little while before I read any of these but I definitely will. For anyone who would like a list of their own here is the link:

http://www.bklynlibrary.org/bookmatch

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And speaking of books, I just finished reading "Mr Penumbra's 24 Bookstore" written by Robin Sloan. I found this book on the Staff Pick's shelf at the library. That shelf has become my favorite place to find new books because you get such a variety of both popular and not so popular books. This particular one caught my eye because of the title, I mean who wouldn't want a bookstore that's open all day every day - it sounds like heaven! I enjoyed the book, and I particularly loved this line...

"He's like a storybook spirit, a little djinn or something, except instead of air or water his element is imagination" 

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Keeping with the topic of reading, this post is something I actually first read last year when a friend sent it to me. I liked it so much then that I printed it out. I stumbled across this week in my search for something else and loved it just as much on my second read through as the first.

http://sean.terretta.com/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads-charles-warnke

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and then I found this. It highlights the beauty of the world when the sun goes down; it explains well why night is my favorite time of day. I love it completely.

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My last link is something that all true coffee lovers will appreciate - especially those of you who recently were put on a 6 week caffeine ban, oh wait that was me :)

http://www.buzzfeed.com/krystieyandoli/signs-your-coffee-addiction-is-completely-out-of-hand?utm_term=.boDwww9dX5#.udXJWN51Z

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And then there is this. These days my sweet little kittens' favorite activities are attacking the Christmas tree ornaments, strolling along the kitchen counter, or hanging out on mom's laptop. I think which one she likes most depends on what she thinks will get me to pay attention faster (since I don't like her doing any of those).  She left this little "signature" last night when I'd walked away from my computer for just a minute. For some reason it struck me and I decided to keep it...I think I really may be losing my mind.

415
xs=========2\]

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That's all for now. Maybe my next post will be a little more profound and insightful, but until the next serious post, or the next goofy one, I hope you all have a disarmingly dazzling, delightful day!

Normally

I normally don't like rain in December, 
but tonight I do.

I liked the way it danced on the roof of my car driving home,
I liked the blur of the lights through the rain soaked windows,
I liked how the tires sang as they drove down the streets.

I liked the chill I felt when the drops touched my cheeks,
Followed by the warmth that enveloped me once safely home.
I liked the delight I saw in my kittens eyes as she watched it shower the world while staying safe and dry inside.
I liked the comfort that came with fleece blankets and hot tea,
with a favorite TV show and a good book to read.
And later on I'll close my eyes, and fall into dreams listening to the lullaby outside.

I normally don't like rain in December,
but sometimes you need something other than normal.



The first two lines of this poem came to me yesterday on my way home from work, the rest came later throughout the evening. It's a rough draft, far from great, but I'm not sure when inspiration will give me the right words to complete it. So I'm sharing it now and maybe more will come later.