if ten years ago someone would have told me that ten years later i would be a housewife raising two little boys in a small town in oregon existing on one meager income, i would have laughed, then punched them in the guts for predicting, as i wold have seen it ten years ago: a boring and mundane life. i had dreams. head in the clouds, stars exploding in my eyes, fantasies on a simply fantastic and glittered life. however, by my mid twenties i began to realize the world was much bigger than i could have ever imagined, and i, compared to the greats i wanted to duplicate greatness and goodness from, were indeed leaps and bounds greater and better than i. so while reality gave me a heaping dose of itself, i began the pursuit of contentment and happiness.

in southern oregon there are mountains with foothills piled in front of them; there are rivers, wild and scenic and every other synonym that goes with the first two descriptive adjectives; there are vineyards that glow like a day dream at sunset and sunrise; there are sky blue lakes with fathers around the edges fishing with their sons; there are small towns that evoke norman rockwall scenes of good ol' america where kids in overalls (or appaman) ride their bikes to the icecream (or gelato) parlour and give reports to all the older folks passing by who know them and want to know how their doing in school. it's a far cry from where i came from, and yet somehow there are days i get sicker than the inside of a dead bloated pig on just how much i miss texas. sometimes it sneaks up on me in a wilco song, or after a bad experience at a mexican restaurant, or because i've stopped long enough to realize how greatly i miss connections with some of the best people, friends and family, in the world. other times it's because it's the month of may and i'm still cold and it's still raining. still.

not know however. right now it's the beginning of autumn, the air is cool and warm all in the same sensation, the bounty of trees here and there and there and here are all turning to electric reds and yellows and oranges; carved pumpkins litter front porches, and the promise of a great saturday or sunday at one of a dozen pumpkin patches sits in the back of the throat, like a tickle. kinda.

i'm 31 now. i started blogging when i was 23. this blogspot doesn't have the genesis of me as a blogger, that one i tossed after it had been used as a wet-one/and, or mop for a heart break i was at the time experiencing and just didn't want any memory of. of course i regret that decision tremendously now that their is no sting or gush of blood pouring from my heart. and here at 31 i now see, i don't have the best or the greatest nor do i need to be utterly content in the simple, and the simple doesn't have to equate mundane and boring just as glitter and exploding stars don't necessarily elude to fantasy. i suppose, without much further elaboration, if someone came up to me and repeated to me the facts about my life, i'd smile, then i'd keep on aspiring (and from time to time, missing my homestate).