my poor disheveled memories
With my only Glen Miller CD on repeat last night, I started putting together a scrapbook with my piles of photos from this past year. Good intentions, I'm afraid, don't always lead to worthy manifestations. And for this I am sad. Perhaps my fist mistake was acting on my impatience in deciding to use a Louisiana keepsake planner from 1992 (or '93 maybe?) as the basis of my book. A blank journal probably would have made all the difference. Although, I couldn't just toss this Louisiana calendar aside; it's so beautiful and I wanted to incorporate it into my life, and give it some reason to be regarded. So at least I might have achieved that goal. Because even though my craftsmanship and terribly distracting and anachronistic organization make for a botched-looking piece of 3rd-grade-craft-trash, I will probably still look at it because I stupidly cut up some of my favorite photographs to fit the pages.
C'est la vie. I'll make another next year. I still love the one I made last summer even though it's also a terrible hodge-podge of computer-printed and professionally-developed prints and I have notes messily scribbled on the sides of the pages. I look at it quite a bit. And actually, so did other random people who came into my room. I don't think I'll be displaying this year's creation quite as prominently.
Jumping tracks to another complaint, it is frickin freezing in my room. But there is something comforting about wearing a sweatshirt in July. And here comes Milo (my cat) wanting me to rub his belly. Duty calls dear readers. Ciao!
C'est la vie. I'll make another next year. I still love the one I made last summer even though it's also a terrible hodge-podge of computer-printed and professionally-developed prints and I have notes messily scribbled on the sides of the pages. I look at it quite a bit. And actually, so did other random people who came into my room. I don't think I'll be displaying this year's creation quite as prominently.
Jumping tracks to another complaint, it is frickin freezing in my room. But there is something comforting about wearing a sweatshirt in July. And here comes Milo (my cat) wanting me to rub his belly. Duty calls dear readers. Ciao!