gray day

This gray, rainy Saturday holds nothing for me but:

: running on a treadmill

: shopping with a discount
: large amounts of hot drinks

: and organizing my closet and drawers.

And I couldn't be more thrilled.

Happy Saturday to you!

really?

My body sways.

My eyes hurt.

My hands shake.

My sinuses ache.

My head pounds.


All Friday posts point towards spring,
but I can only think of a point in time when my head won't hurt.

I say to you, anticipated-Friday-afternoon, "Boo. Boo. Booooooo."


And to think, I was just saying yesterday how much I looked forward to you. For shame.

photo shoot

Last weekend, I did a little photo shoot with my friends who recently became engaged. We just dressed them up a bit, grabbed a blanket and a picnic basket and my camera, and wandered out to the pasture and woods to take a few pictures. Aren't they sweet?

sixty degrees in newport

I did it. I finally did it.

I went somewhere, and did something, all on my own.

I don't mean went to the store or saw a movie or took a walk by myself, in case that's what you're thinking. (Who is this girl? Who can't do something on their own? Anyone can do something on their own. Pfft.)

Quite honestly, I was extremely wary of going somewhere by myself. It even gave me anxiety trying to think of where to go and what to do and how long to be gone. I put it off for weeks. This, fortunately, reinforced to me how much I really needed to do it. After all, if I can't feel comfortable spending time with myself, how's anyone else going to?

So, I did it. I decided an overnight would be too much (read: I'd be way too scared), so I settled on a day trip. Rachel recommended I see Newport with its cliffs and mansions and beaches. I did some Googling and made the decision an hour later, probably out of a desire to not worry about it anymore. It was only a couple hours away, seemed relaxing enough, and I'd actually never been.

I'm so glad I went. I sat on the beach (there were even people in the water), walked the cliffwalk, took a yoga class, browsed through thrift stores, and dined alone. I hardly even noticed the time.

And I took way too many pictures, too. I quickly realized that being a solo traveler means no pictures of oneself--therefore, I embraced the soloness and set my camera timer. With people around. It was nice, only worrying about myself.

I have this theory that beaches are even more beautiful in the wintertime. Maybe it's because I didn't grow up near any to see them throughout all the seasons, but it's weird to think they even exist when it's not 80 degrees out and they're not covered with umbrellas and sunbathers and sandy children. It's like a woodsy mountain in the summertime. I think I can just better enjoy them for what they're really worth, somehow.

I left that evening feeling happier than I'd been in a very long time, and I was proud to think that it all came about on my own accord. It's nice to treat yourself every now and then; even necessary, I think. I've always been an introvert and enjoyed my alone time, but I can't wait to do something like this again. If you've ever thought about taking a solo vacation, I say DO IT.

Although, if you have an irrational fear driving over bridges over water like I do, Rhode Island may not be your best choice. Yipes.

plain broke

Sometimes I wish I had a real job and made real money so I could buy real things.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't going to grad school, so I wouldn't extend this period of flat-out-brokeness for another two long years.


It's hard, when you want this scarf...

...and this headband...

...and this bag (oh, the bags are what kill me)...

...and this dress...

...but behold, I'm pretty darn broke. And think I will be for some more time. Drat.

This post on Anthropologie purchases just threw me back into an I-can-deny-it-and-purchase-it-anyways mindset, before I jolted myself back into my reality and tried to put off the irrational desires for two more years, hopefully. I did not, however, practice enough self-control to decline the request for a catalog to be sent to my house. If that's not self-harm, I don't know what is.

(My friend Stephanie worked at Anthropologie when we roomed together in college, and any time she brought back purchases I'd make her try everything on for me and go over every detail of every purchase, trying to live vicariously through her [and her discount!]. Even the smell she brought back with her was enough to make me crazy.)

Anthropologie, I'll get back to you, someday.