humid.

I arrived yesterday in Atlanta. First impressions: humidty, and strange meats at the grocery store (hog’s feet? chicken necks? tails?).

Oh yes.

Plus, I really enjoyed flying, as usual. Ever since I lived in SeaTac for those three days, I have some sort of Stockholm Syndrome with airports and airplanes. I cannot get enough of them. There is something so interesting about sitting and watching people at an airport – full of partings and greetings, different cultures – it’s like some amazing cross-section of humanity, and I love that.

And, not to mention, the creation of God is magnified in glory and majesty from 30,000 feet.

plus tard…

Hi there, July.

Writing is rather painful. I’m not sure why, but it is. It is difficult to even live and merely comprehend the sights, sounds, smells, emotions, feelings, touches, thoughts, interactions, perceptions, intuitions, dreams, hopes, hurts, pains, joys, the tangible, the intangible, the physical, the spiritual, and the way they all interact and intertwine to construct the sturdy yet fragile and intricate framework of our lives. Yet, to write on it? To cram those things into words, neat and tidy, and contained in easy-to-handle sizes and formats? So often, the words just end up like some suitcase, opened up after returning home from a long vacation – messy, unorganized, and with zippers nearly broken from the strain.

But perhaps, sometimes even that is better than nothing, for though it may not be pretty – it certainly tells a story.