Currently Listening Corinne Bailey Rae (Dlx- 2CDs) By Corinne Bailey Rae see related

I am currently applying for my fourth year as a Counselor on the phenomenal Aggies Reaching Out trip.
Below is my answer to one of the application questions:

1.      As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

 
                          A  Librarian.

I love books.
I love the smell of books.
I love the way libraries smell because of books.
I love the way a hardback book feels when you hold it.
I love hearing the inaugural crack of a book’s spine when it is first opened.
I love that the culmination of a person’s life efforts can be shared with the masses.

 
Johannes Gutenberg is my hero.

 
I no longer want to be a librarian, but my initial love for books and the written word have   manifested themselves in my love for editing, and some very strong stances on punctuation.

I consider Georgia (12- point font) the official font for all my Microsoft Word endeavors.
I cringe when people do not effectively execute the usage of “your” and “you’re.”
I give preferential treatment to individuals who properly use semi-colons.
I feel that ellipses are overrated and completely overused.
I am a strong supporter of the Oxford Comma.
I love proof-reading papers.
I detest emoticons.

I have decided that if I were to ever get a tattoo, this is what it would be:

                                                            ;

Seriously.

For the youngest third of my heart:

So far away is the fragile moon
of that night in June
when we made our escape
to the papier-mache dreams of our youth.

So far away is the beating heart
of that crystal star
who kindly lit our path
with the aftermath of its slow demise.

So far away is the emerald green
of our friends unseen
who mapped their dance of ambiguity
through the shaded  light between us.

I wait for those days with silenced sighs;
hoping to disguise my disappointment with each passing sun.

Could they not have lingered a while longer in the twinkle of our eyes,
or left with a knowing glance foretelling of an inevitable return?

Perhaps the promise of a permanent residence in the literature of our minds was too much to demand.

Still, I wait -
Assuaged by your presence and the glimpses of the year nineteen hundred and ninety-four nestled in the corners of your mischievous smile.

Attempting to unflesh a hidden passion buried within the dark caverns of my heart, I find myself longing to write. My subconscious pleads with my stubborn practicality to delineate the ambiance of my soul. Can words on a page ever do justice to the passions continually being etched into my being with every passing pulse? The crudeness of my words inspire the grace of my senses in a futile attempt to capture this ephemeral euphoria. This rare instance of vulnerability is currently aided by the flickering flames of candlelight and the gentle serenades of Billie Holiday which, after journeying through the byzantine conduit of my auditory senses, make their home in the taste of my tears. With the security of a pen in my hand and the threat of Billie Holiday in my eyes, I desperately search for the quintessential phrase that will preserve this sublime moment in the spring of my existence: I have been inspired by the passion and intellect of a man who is inspired by the passion and intellect of words. After experiencing the euphony and brilliance that occur when words and passion meet, I can never again be satisfied with the mediocrity of words without inspiration.

Currently Listening Twentysomething By Jamie Cullum It's about time see related

Our first counseling session consisted of getting my phone to break down some barriers. Mainly, the screensaver on my phone would not go away; thus, no calls could be made or received. After an intense 45 minute session, I walked out with a "working" phone. Ah, but it was a pyrrhic victory. I lost all one hundred and ninety-seven of the phone numbers saved on my phone.

The next counseling session took place 15 minutes later when my phone continued to give me the "cold shoulder" and tune me out...literally. I could now make a call to the five people whose numbers I knew from memory, but they could not hear anything that I said. So, much to my disappointment and our counselor Connie's dismay, we returned for another 30 minute session. After much sweet talk, Connie and I finally coaxed my cellular phone into cooperating.

17 hours later we were headed to Victoria, TX for the wedding of Danny and Abby McReynolds. All was going well, and I hoped that witnessing the marriage of our dear friends would remind my phone of the beauty of a working relationship...I was too optimistic. Just two hours after the reception, my phone mysteriously locked itself and demanded a code in order to be used again. Never having had an untrusting relationship with a cellular device and no need to lock it, I did not know what the code was. I knew that it was a number between 0 and 9999. My choices were a.) spend the next 14 hours in Victoria without a working phone, or b.) spend 14 hours plugging in a 4-digit sequence with the possibility of being let down 9998 times. After much deliberation and about 10 numerical attempts, I decided to test my patience.

Fourteen hours later and our third counseling session of the weekend was a complete success; I do not forsee any more problems in the near future.

[Note: This was originally a message sent to Katie Waser as an apology for not returning her call this weekend.]