Some dude on Bumble (because I am that idiotic hopeless romantic and can't hold onto my resolve any better than I can hold onto a dollar bill): Your blog made me laugh. Kind of wondering what I have to do to be a subject.

Me: My blog made you laugh? That's good because I've been feeling like it's been dark lately. To be a subject? Surprise me.

So apparently, all he needed to do was say Picky made him laugh. Except he's not really the subject here, though it did surprise me that I'd made him laugh. I reread the most recent posts the other day and couldn't find much of it amusing.

There is such darkness in my world, and it's gotten darker still.

My father's in the hospital. He didn't want to go. He's not in favor of extreme measures and has the paperwork to prove it. He went to a cardiologist a week ago yesterday, who ordered blood work to be done that Friday. Cardiologist had forgotten something in his office and went back up on Saturday to find my father's lab results on the top of his desk and was alarmed to see how low my father's hemoglobin was. He called to ask my father to come to the emergency room to have the test redone because he thought perhaps there was an error in its execution.

My father didn't want to go. But I wanted him to do so. My mother did. The cardiologist did. I thought it would be in and out fairly quickly. A retake.

It wasn't.

He's been on high blood pressure medicine for quite some time, has been routinely checking it, as well as his blood sugar because his father was diabetic. He's been coughing, badly, for about two years now. Probably more than that. As though his allergies are heinous and he can't quite get the mucus out of his chest.

Because it was fluid, not mucus. He's got aortic stenosis, which means the aortic valve is flapping in on itself or something like that. His heart's overtaxed because he's losing blood because there's something wrong with his digestive system... probably his kidneys. His sodium levels are insanely low, which you would think wouldn't be the case because he guzzles carbonated beverages like they're water. So he's bleeding somewhere... most likely has been for quite some time.

And maybe all of this could be fixed, but hospitals aren't performing surgeries unless they're caused by life-threatening conditions. And hospitals closed to visitors yesterday, so this seventy-eight-year-old man who'd rather be here with us, sitting in his chair watching Fox News and eating my mother's cooking and bitching that he can't hear the television because my mother and I keep talking over the commentators...

Yall, he could barely walk, could barely move, could barely speak. He is positive he's dying.

We made him go. And I'm beginning to think my father's going to die alone in that hospital, and I won't get to say goodbye to him. And all I want to do is curl up in his lap like I did when I was a toddler. I can't because we made him go.

And I keep thinking of when my brother died. Of how he died alone in the dark. How I didn't get to say goodbye. How I had no one upon whom to lean to grieve.

I don't want to do this again. I don't want to have to suck up my sadness so I don't burden my mother and my brother and God knows who else...

I want my father home.

I want someone to make these shadows go away.

* * *

This morning Mom told me his kidneys were failing. I was more concerned that he would die. I texted him and asked him again if he wanted me to bail him out. He didn't respond right away, but hours later, I got a text from him saying not yet. I called my brother on the way to work to ask about his opinion of the situation. Both Mom and he were on the side of hospitalization. I went to work. 

I called my father on the way home and asked again if he wanted me to come get him. He said no.

When I got home, I watered his rather impressive cactus garden. 

Not long after finishing that, Mom came home to announce that he was coming home. Still very sick. Still lots of doctors' care required, but they could do it from our home. He'll be here this afternoon. I am somewhat relieved.

A Girl Gives Her Testimony to a Group of Much Better Women than She and It Is Well-Received

I presented my story at one of those Bible studies in which I participate. I worried over what to write for two weeks. I was asked last night if I could go today instead of next week. I said, "Sure." I hadn't figured out what I was going to say, didn't have any props (because people like to look at things)... I knew it would come to me, but... yall... it came to me at eight-thirty a.m. this morning... sixty minutes before I was to speak. Once a procrastinator, always a procrastinator. I thought I'd share what I'd said--most of you who've followed Picky for some time know the spiel, but for the newcomer:

I don't look good on paper. Three years shy of fifty, unmarried, childless, physically and mentally disabled, financially and emotionally insecure, underemployed with no prospects or drive for better opportunities, living with my parents, driving a twelve-year-old vehicle with nearly two hundred thousand miles on it. The longest romantic relationship I've had lasted four months... four months longer than it should have because I had no interest in him. The one that mattered most lasted six weeks... if that... because I had too much interest in him. The worst one lasted three months and ended with him verbally, emotionally and mentally abusing me. If I could manage to find and keep a good man, I've doubted whether I could give him children anyway because I have cerebral palsy: my hips were dislocated at birth; my bones, ligaments, tendons and muscles are poorly-constructed things; and my brain suffers chemical imbalances that cause severe depression and rage... even if I'd been physically capable of carrying a child and having a healthy pregnancy, I questioned whether I would've been sound enough to be a nurturing mother. I've not kept any job for longer than five years, and none of them have paid well; the majority of them have been in retail.

I don't look good in person. My face feels like a Picasso painting: scraps jumbled together and colored red for the rage, yellow for the jaundiced skin, blue for the sadness and the tempest, and black for the fear and the despair. I've had six surgeries, three of which were on my eyes. I bear some thirty scars from those surgeries, and ten of them are above my chin. I've been told of how ugly I am more times than I could possibly begin to fathom. I've been told I should kill myself because I'm taking up valuable air and space and there are more important people who need it. That no one would ever want to marry me because I was too ugly and no one wants to wake up next to something--not someone--that ugly every morning. I had a teacher put my desk in an appliance box because she couldn't stand having me in her classroom, couldn't bear the sight of me, but couldn't put me in another one because I was too smart to be in special education. The world is flat to me--I have no depth perception. I see things like you would see them on a television or theater screen or in a magazine or photograph. I constantly have to guess where things are, and my hands often reach for things to help secure my place--walking in a crowded mall or grocery store is more terrifying to me than driving on an interstate. People move around like gaseous molecules with no regard for others. And when I stop to wait for people to go by or I press myself against the shelves in a store until they have passed, people stare at me and ask, "What the hell is your problem?"

Life has been my problem. Loving it, wanting it. I have battled suicidal ideation since I was eight years old... since that teacher put my desk in that refrigerator box.

I am that electron that doesn't belong anywhere. The free radical floating in the cosmos, screwing things up. The fifth wheel. The black hole. The voyeur. The wallflower. Eager for, but incapable of, belonging. Unwelcome. Unnecessary.

Two and a half years ago, while on a Sunday drive, my father said I seemed happier, that I wasn't fighting as much. I wanted to cry. I wasn't fighting at all. I'd stopped clambering for the surface. I had dreams of an Aggie ring, marriage, family, home, career. One by one they'd died. I'd been mourning their deaths and waiting for mine, knowing it could be decades away. And two weeks or so later... My oldest friend called, inviting me to her classroom to teach first graders how to write. I met a little boy, and then I met his mother, the woman who leads the small group of which I am a member and heads the women's ministry of the church I sometimes attend.

I know the ways I have been blessed. I am here today because of those blessings, those lifelines God has thrown me. He's never thrown me so many as He has in the past two years.

Twenty-One Days

A lot of the friendships I've strengthened and valued most in the past year have been those formed through faith-based events: gals I've met through volunteering at a Christian school; the retreat I attended in the spring; the Bible studies I've attended. These women are beautiful creatures; I feel blessed to know them. Would that I could be more like them.

The men I've met in the past few months haven't wanted to scratch the surface. When I look at my reflection, I can see that I'm not giving them much of a reason to want to do so. At the same time, though, I want to find the man who'd be inclined to dig a little BECAUSE the surface seems so ordinary. God know there's an abundance of complexity beneath.

The church I've been attending for the past year or so is doing a twenty-one day fast and holding prayer hours at six a.m. and again at noon. I can't make the noon ones because of work. Last week I managed to get up at five a.m. for four days and show up to pray with and for others. The first two days I loved it; the next two I felt like a farce -- like the demons in me balked at the goodness of it and mocked those in attendance because of how they prayed. I was too unsettled by the hypocrisy I felt to continue.

Who among you struggles with this in your faiths? How do you overcome it?

I've heard that you can create new habits in twenty-one days. I understand why this number was chosen for the fasting and the praying. I know that I would love to create new habits, that life begins outside our comfort zones, and I have been much too comfortable these days.

Last night in Bible study, a friend spoke of how her husband had matured over the years, especially when he'd begun digging into the Word at the start of his day. It sounds like such a fine idea, but part of me can't bring myself to do it. Is it fear? Is it laziness? Is it that I don't want to be uncomfortable? How could I bring myself to get up at five a.m., dress and drive twenty minutes in the dark to pray with strangers for an hour, but I can't bring myself to get out of bed and open a book for that amount of time? Is it the weak student who never studied and can't bring herself to do so now as a struggling adult? How do I silence the doubt and skepticism so that my faith can grow?

Dandelion Wine

So first of all... the New Year's Resolution was to reclaim a usage of capital letters. I struggled with whether to make Picky exempt from this because for nearly fifteen years I have refrained, but... a resolution's a resolution, so... capitals.

Why I wanted to read it: Last year, my parents and I saw The Bookshop in River Oaks Theater in Houston, and two of the characters in that film read it. My mother used to teach it; it is a favorite of hers, and also of my father's. I thought I'd give it a go.

What I loved: SO, SO much. It is damned near perfect. The best thing about it is how involved you become in the characters' plights... as if you're watching a ball on a roulette table go click... click... click... and take FOREVER to stop. Bradbury's a genius at building suspense. He's a genius at carrying themes throughout this collection of vignettes. He's a genius at creating a town and fostering an appreciation for its inhabitants.

What sucked: NOTHING.

Having said all that: READ IT.

bah humbug

weeks ago -- before thanksgiving -- i bought a tiny christmas tree for my room. it stayed in the bag in my trunk until tonight. i was in heb getting a plant as a housewarming gift for a dude i'd been talking to for a couple of weeks -- i'd chosen not to get a poinsettia because those are so temporary, so i bought him ivy instead. ivy that clings and smothers -- how fitting. two days after i gave him the plant, he said he'd enjoyed getting to know me and talking with me but he felt there wasn't a connection. i remember giving him that plant. i remember that i sat on the stoop of the east shore condominium he'd purchased waiting for him, i'd thought, to get back from a home depot run. i'd sat there for an hour with my clingy, smothering plant, waiting for him to text me back. there was some sort of a glitch. so i left the plant on his doorstep and went home, and when i was in our driveway, i finally got a response from him -- wondering if i still wanted to come over and help him unpack. so we went to flower child for dinner, and it was bland. and then we went back to his place where i helped him unpack his dishes and cram a dishwasher. and i was thinking, this feels odd, and i need an excuse to leave, and not long after that my brother called me because he needed me to go get his loosed dog, and so i left. and two days later, i got that text -- not connecting. so be it. i gave you a plant. i watched you pick it up off the stoop after i'd said, that's from me. i watched you marvel at it. and then the next day, i had that other jerk for whom i'd driven to elgin tell me that i'd not dressed sexily enough. yall, i'm tired. i've had two adult beverages -- all the liquor that goes in a mudslide sans ice cream... chased one after another. i'm inebriated. in front of my family -- that hardly ever happens. i was wrapping gifts tonight, and for the first time in my life, i didn't give a shit about how well they were wrapped. i didn't give a shit about christmas, and i'm too inebriated off six ounces of liquor to give a damn. i hate this. this isn't me.

it should be enough...

me: are you okay if i'm in jeans and a t-shirt?

bumbler: yes, i prefer it.

days later...

me: what sort of woman do you seek, and where do i fall short in comparison?

bumbler: you wore a t-shirt and brought a backpack with you on our date. that's fine, but it doesn't really suggest femininity or maturity. if we were in college that might be ok, but i graduated college twenty-five years ago. next time, wear something that shows off that great body of yours and have a purse. you are really smart and interesting. i think you just need to work on your packaging/presentation a bit.

me: i asked you if jeans and a t-shirt would be okay, and you said you prefer it. i came straight from work (bumbler lives in elgin--two+ hour drive for me), so i had some time to kill. i brought some work with me while i waited for you.

bumbler: [dead silence]

yall? i'm done. D O N E. and it breaks my heart a little to say that because the lifeline for me in my youth when i was struggling to live was that one day, some day some dude was going to really see me and not the crappy packaging. and i know now that's not going to happen. that i'm really smart and interesting should be enough. it SHOULD, but it isn't.

pray for me, will you? because my heart... my heart...

the lord of the rings

why i wanted to read it: because i LOVE the movies and the story, and it's been on my to do list for decades.

what i liked: i listened to it on audio, yall, so i can't share specific lines. good god, tolkien's world-building ability is amazing. his descriptions are beautiful. his mastery of language is astounding. his creativity is enviable.

meriadoc brandybuck and peregrin took are my favorite characters. SUCH fearlessness and curiosity. i love, LOVE samwise gamgee and wish like hell i could have a friend as dedicated as he. SUCH loyalty. i listened to the second book, then the third and finished with the first, and am so glad i did because the memory of sam's steadfast love and resoluteness are such beautiful things.

what sucked: the songs.

having said that. READ IT, people. it's damned fine storytelling.

the fall film challenge: update

i did not watch a single film from my list this year, and it wasn't because i was less interested in those films i'd selected than those of previous challenges. i just wasn't in the mood. i've seen two flicks in theaters this year, yall: men in black: international, which pretty much sucked, and ford vs. ferrari, which i saw twice and will most likely see it again because it's amazing.

two contestants, christine and joanna, completed their original lists, and erin managed to see not one but TWO lord of the rings films. i call that a victory.

the fall film challenge: my list

one. richard armitage: brain on fire.

two. sean astin: the goonies.

three. sean bean: mirror mirror.

four. cate blanchett: song to song.

five. orlando bloom: new york i love you.

six. billy boyd: the flying scotsman.

seven. marton csokas: the amazing spiderman two.

eight. benedict cumberbatch: war horse.

nine. john rhys-davies: aquaman.

ten. luke evans: midway.

eleven. martin freeman: ode to joy.

twelve. ian holm: young winston.

thirteen. christopher lee: the three musketeers.

fourteen. evangeline lilly: avengers: end game.

fifteen. ian mckellan: stardust.

sixteen. dominic monaghan: soldiers of fortune.

seventeen. viggo mortensen: green book.

eighteen. mirando otto: the daughter.

nineteen. lee pace: captain marvel.

twenty. andy serkis: inkheart.

twenty-one. liv tyler: dr. t and the women.

twenty-two. karl urban: red.

twenty-three. hugo weaving: the dressmaker.

twenty-four. david wenham: pirates of the carribbean: dead men tell no tales.

twenty-five. elijah wood: green street hooligans.

the fall film challenge

begins one minute past twelve a.m. september first / concludes midnight november thirtieth. you may NOT use a movie you have already seen, even in part (excluding trailers), for this challenge. all films MUST be new to you. all selections MUST have a page on the internet movie database and MUST have (had) a theatrical release. titles released outside of the united states are acceptable.

in previous challenges, membership to the fall film challenge facebook group was a requirement for prize eligibility. that is NOT the case this year. if you choose not to join the group, please find ways to communicate your progress with me so that i can keep accurate lists and ensure prizes are awarded correctly. once you've selected your films for the categories, post your choices to the group's page or email it to quirkypickings at icloud dot com so i may add your selections to the master list and, if necessary, upload the correlating stills to the galleries. there are eight photo albums, arranged by decade, on the group's page. once an individual has seen a film, he or she leaves a comment on the corresponding image saying when it was viewed and for what category so i can track progress. if you are not a member of the group and are in communication with me, i will make the necessary notes to stills representing your selections.

each film is valued at ten points. changes after the challenge has begun ARE acceptable.

the first five people to complete the challenge prior to november thirtieth will each receive either an amazon or itunes, as is preferred, gift card valued at ten dollars. if you complete the original list, you will be eligible to compete in the bonus round, the details of which will be revealed october fifteenth. the person to accumulate the most points at the event's conclusion will receive an amazon gift card valued at fifty dollars.

"this is a serious journey, not a hobbit walking-party"

(peregrin took -- as written by j.r.r. tolkien in lord of the rings: the fellowship of the ring)

and so this year, we celebrate the cast of tolkien's tales. choose one film for each actor.

richard armitage

sean astin

sean bean

cate blanchett

orlando bloom

billy boyd

marton csokas

benedict cumberbatch

john rhys-davies

luke evans

martin freeman

ian holm

christopher lee

evangeline lilly

ian mckellan

dominic monaghan

viggo mortensen

mirando otto

lee pace

andy serkis

liv tyler

karl urban

hugo weaving

david wenham

elijah wood

seventeen weeks, two days

that's how long it's been since i've posted anything. seventeen weeks. that's a LONG time. i'm sorry to have been so absent. i haven't had anything new to say.

i spent much of march and april fighting a hellacious and tenacious sinus infection. it was so severe it caused significant bouts of vomiting. i was unthrilled. i've never been that sick for that long in my life. i'd started to worry it was something more severe, but no... it's just allergies.

i've rejoined bumble. because i'm an idiot. glutton for punishment. i actually drove to katy to meet a guy last weekend. i drove. something's wrong with this, right? when... W H E N is a guy i find interesting going to think enough of me to make the effort? when am i going to get a damned clue that if I'M the one making the effort, he's not worth the time and energy. WHY, W H Y do always, A L W A Y S feel as though i've to convince a dude of my worth.

and, goddammit, i have value.

of course there are those dudes who make the effort, and the words that come out of their mouths are so wrong... and then i feel guilty for being so judgmental. i don't need a man to impress me with this exhaustive, fifty-dollar-word vocabulary. i've spent years studying english and creative writing from some of the finest professors in the state, and one of the first rules they teach you in writing is don't use fifty-dollar words when fifty-cent ones will do. if you use fancy schmancy words in dialogue, i'm going to assume you're a pretentious son of a bitch, and i don't need that kind of man in my life. on the other hand, if you spell words like later like l8r, i'm going to assume you're a lazy son of a bitch, and i don't need that kind of man in my life, either.

i keep doing this. i keep hoping it will be different, and it never is.

see? nothing new. but it's been seventeen weeks and two days... i didn't want yall to think i'd forgotten about you or that i'd disappeared. i'm here.

the unreliable narrator

i don't know how old i was when i learned i had cerebral palsy. i suspect it was when i was ten, when i had to have the third of six surgeries... the first one i was old enough to remember. i had a navel hernia -- something to do with the abdominal wall and a hole... and if it's not fixed, your stomach could mesh with your intestines and you die. or at least that's what i remember from the explanation of the thing all those years ago. i'd been suffering suicidal ideation for two years by this point in my life. i would've preferred death, but... i was ten. my parents found a doctor and scheduled the surgery and here i am.

i'm always amazed at how full of irony life can be. seconds before i'd begun typing this, the group messaging app used by the gals in a bible study i've been attending started sounding off notifications. a friend's husband was life-flighted today and had a surgery that lasted eleven hours, the results of which have so far been unsuccessful. it's funny to me how the ones who don't want to live get to linger, and the ones whose lives are so detrimental to the well-being of others can be snatched away in seconds. i'm writing about the need for a patch in my abdominal wall... and another's in need of the patch in his heart. the patch in mine worked. the patch in his isn't.

i've been volunteering at a christian academy since september. the kids are out for spring break this coming week. wednesday next, i'll be presenting at the school's chapel service. i'll be talking about the fruits of the spirit -- one in particular: faithfulness.

i've shared some of the details of my story with the gals in the bible study. the other day, one of them commended me for my faith. i was surprised by the compliment.

there's some passage in the bible about how we're fearfully and wonderfully made. fearfully. yes. absolutely. i am full of fear. wonderfully? i call bullshit.

i was browsing through netflix and came across the theory of everything. i can't watch the whole thing. i can't. i HATE seeing how the body is ravaged, how its destruction ruined so much, was so catastrophic to so many and in so many ways.

what i have, it's nothing compared to lou gehrig's disease. my body isn't rotting. but i recognize the anger stephen hawking may have felt in the days... the decades after his diagnosis. i've been PISSED at mine for almost all my life. and i've been pissed at me for being pissed because, as my mother has said over and over again, i can do so many things.

it'll get worse as i get older, though. and at some point, i'm not going be able to keep my muscles from spasming... and the heart... it's a muscle, too. most of the time, i think this can't come soon enough. i dread it, though. i dread how this disability is going to break me.

this is the story i've chosen to tell... this one of anger and hate and fearfulness. i played the part of the unreliable narrator. i've become so accustomed to the role, i don't know how to make the necessary corrections.

what was i thinking? how could i possibly begin to talk to ten-year-olds about faithfulness?

because one reading challenge isn't enough

okay. so i'm gonna try my hand at this year's pop sugar reading challenge. i spent the morning at brio's with a couple of friends chewing over the list and the books on my to-be-read shelves and have come up with this list:

one. a book becoming a movie in 'nineteen. the rosie project by graeme simsion.

two. a book that makes you nostalgic. every last word by tamara ireland stone.
three. a book written by a musician (fiction or nonfiction). this life i live by rory feek.

four. a book becoming you think should be turned into a movie. the last summer of you and me by anna brashares.

five. a book with at least a million goodreads' ratings. the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime by haddon.

six. a book with a plant in the title or on the cover. the care and handling of roses with thorns by margaret dilloway.

seven. a reread of a favorite book. lovers and dreamers by nora roberts.

eight. a book about a hobby. let's pretend this never happened by jenny lawson.

nine. a book you meant to read in 'eighteen. elinor oliphant is completely fine by gail honeyman.

ten. a book with pop, sugar or challenge in the title. the sugar queen by sarah addison allen.

eleven. a book with an item of clothing or accessory on the cover. the seven rules of elvira carr by maynard.

twelve. a book inspired by myth/legend/folklore. the lord of the rings by j.r.r. tolkien.

thirteen. a book published posthumously. the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society by shaffer and barrows.

fourteen. a book you see someone reading on television or in a movie. dandelion wine by ray bradbury.

fifteen. a retelling of a classic. alice i have been by melanie benjamin.

sixteen. a book with a question in the title. where'd you go bernadette by maria semple.

seventeen a book set on a college or university campus. maybe someday by colleen hoover.

eighteen. a book about someone with a superpower. miss peregrine's home for peculiar children by simsion.

nineteen. a book told from multiple points of view. the bookshop at water's end by patti callahan henry.

twenty. a book set in space. the martian by andy weir.

twenty-one. a book by two female authors. between the lines by jodi picoult and samantha van leer.

twenty-two. a book with salty, sweet, bitter or spicy in the title. hotel on the corner of bitter and sweet by jamie ford.

twenty-three. a book set in scandinavia. bear town by fredrik backman.

twenty-four. a book that takes place in a single day. one hundred two minutes by jim dwyer and kevin flynn.

twenty-five. a debut novel. reconstructing amelia by kimberly mcreight.

twenty-six. a book that's published in 'nineteen. all we could have been by t.e. carter.

twenty-seven. a book featuring an extinct or imaginary creature. the hobbit by j.r.r. tolkien.

twenty-eight. a book recommended by a celebrity you admire. where the crawdads sing by delia owens.

twenty-nine. a book with love in the title. love walked in by marisa de los santos.

thirty. a book featuring an amateur detective. the lake house by kate morton.

thirty-one. a book about a family. the weird sisters by eleanor brown.

thirty-two. a book by an author from asia, africa or s. america. the number one ladies' detective agency by smith.

thirty-three. a book with a zodiac sign or astrology term in the title. water for elephants by sara gruen.

thirty-four. a book that includes a wedding. the glass kitchen by linda francis lee.

thirty-five. a book by one whose first and last names begin with the same letter. probability of miracles by wunder.

thirty-six. a ghost story. a room away from the wolves by nova ren suma.

thirty-seven. a book with a two-word title. saving june by hannah harrington.

thirty-eight. a novel based on a true story. the promise by ann weisgarber.

thirty-nine. a book revolving around a puzzle or a game. legendary by stephanie garber.

forty. your favorite prompt from a past popsugar reading challenge. furiously happy by jenny lawson.

random quarter

one. three things i like about myself: intelligence, compassion, generosity.

two. three things i dislike about myself: insecurity, temper, laziness.

three. the happiest person i know: michelle.

four. the two people i like and respect the most and why: aurora and cynthia because they are like sunshine.

five. i am: a child of god, one who is never quite happy with her lot in life.

six. the five qualities i most admire in others: perceptiveness, honesty, dedication, resilience and affability.

seven. my mission: to last the day.

eight. what i would attempt if i knew i could not fail: the things that come to mind are ideas put in my head by family and friends, and i am not confident that these wants are truthfully my own so i don't feel comfortable with this topic.

nine. five people who can help you achieve your goals: the only goal i have now is to survive the day, and the people i would most like to have near me for that are aurora, cynthia, erin, rebecca and traci.

ten. five things i've been procrastinating doing: cleaning out the closet, creating a prayer corner--a war room--in my bedroom, cleaning out my vehicle, applying for full-time employment and cleaning out my storage unit.

eleven. ways to make monday magical: i welcome ideas for this one. all i can think of is allowing myself a long, hot soak in fragrant bubbles and salts whilst sipping a glass of some kind of a white.

twelve. do you know how amazing you truly are? no. no, i do not.

thirteen. natural gifts: i can sing. that's pretty much it.

fourteen: wonders of the world i'd like to see: the great barrier reef, the grand canyon and the northern lights.

fifteen. ancestral lands i'd like to visit: austria, ireland and scotland.

sixteen. i've always wanted to: attend a red sox game at fenway park; drive the length of route sixty-six; drive the length of highway one; take the train across the country; spend a week on a beach in fiji.

seventeen. if the average lifespan is an estimated twenty-seven thousand, three hundred seventy-five days, how many do you have left? ten thousand seven hundred seven.

eighteen. what did you worry about six months ago? a year ago? five years ago? my well-being. always me first because i'm a vain woman. my biggest fear in life is that i would become a spinster, and yes, that has come to pass.

nineteen. when was the last time you did something for the first time? december twenty-fifth: i played game of thrones settlers of catan with my mother.

twenty. about what are you passionate? nothing.

twenty-one. what is something you've always wanted to do but haven't done? know romantic love.

twenty-two. how will you change the world? no fucking clue.

twenty-three. about what do you care? my family and friends.

twenty-four. how do you want to be remembered? for my heart... as scarred as it is, it is good.

twenty-five. people who have made you feel appreciated and special: amelia, megan, cassady, jace, maylee, elizabeth, nicki, luke, landon, liberty, colton, piper, cam, bentley and justin.