Sarah's Not Dead... Yet

{Photo by my wonderful friend Chris.  If you need a photographer in the Denver area, you certainly need to give him a shout}

Oh hey!  I'm not dead!  Just a bad blogger.  But I'm back and ready to spew my thoughts all over you fine fine readers out there.

I'm moving to Portland!!  I'm ditching this popsicle stand known as Denver and making my way out west.  So far, I'm a clustermuck of excitement, stress, anxiety, and pure ecstasy.  The decision to move was pretty rash and hasn't be received well by some (most) of my family and friends; but there a fair few that have been extremely supportive, and for that I am very thankful. 

My launch date is July 16th.  I should be in the Pacific Northwest by July 18th and settled in with my 80 year old great-uncle Tony and his spunky wife of 4 years, Auntie Kathy.  When they offered to let me stay with them, Auntie Kathy's exact words were, "You can stay as long as you like... not permanently.  But as long as you like."  Other than my silvered haired roommates, I have no friends in the area and that is oddly liberating and exciting to me.  I can start over, get out of these bad habits I've set for myself and figure out how to do this "life" thing everyone's always talking about.

Oh!  Did I mention Powell's??  The largest independent bookstore in America?  Yeah.  You'll have a book-gasm within minutes of stepping through the front doors, especially when the cashier tells you there's no sales tax in Portland. 

My list of things to do over the next four weeks has been growing; it seems that things are being added faster than they are being checked off.  But over the past few days I've gotten rid of nearly all of my clothes, traded them in at consignment stores for higher end items that will last longer and keep me dry during the rainy months, which I'm told are January through December.

I also cleaned out every hiding spot I've created in my apartment.  There's the nook between the bookcase and the window where important papers go to die; the drawers in my desk that have become a graveyard for old (and ugly) stationary and over-sized thumb tacks I apparently thought would be a wise purchase at the time; under my bed where the over-sized bags I think I needed to make me a better and trendier student and writer have found their permanent resiting place; and, most frighteningly, "The Linoleum Room."  The Linoleum room is a spare room that came with our apartment.  It has a drain in the middle of the linoleum floor (hence the name), a sink, awkward and unusable shelves, and windows that lead to the fire escape, that have been painted shut.  When we moved in, we slid all our odds and ends that didn't have an immediate home into The Linoleum Room with wonderful intentions to sort through them later.  Then we made the mistake of hanging up a curtain in the doorway so you wouldn't be able to see the mess.  A year and half later, the odds and ends are still there, with many more additions that have settled in quite nicely. 

Yesterday, in 90 degree heat (and with painted shut windows), I forced my way through the boxes and boxes of unused decorations, birthday card, board games, cleaning products, and miscellaneous mementos.  My mantra: "Do I really want to pack this?" And if there was still some hesitancy: "Will this fit in my Honda Accord?"  The answer was usually always a resounding NO and the Good Will on Broadway is now fully stocked with all the junk I've collected since I moved out of my parent's house 5 years ago. 

I looked around The Linoleum Room, with linoleum floors now actually visible and my brain somehow felt so much lighter.  Then I turned to my closets, opened the door and examined the few articles that survived the purge.  My shoulders didn't feel quite as heavy as they did a few days earlier.  Even though I'll be going to Portland with nothing but some picture frames and my books, and will most likely be that girl that wears the same outfits every week, I feel so liberated.  All that "stuff" was anchoring me, holding me back.  And it really was just "stuff."  None of it meant anything important, none of it was hand made or given to me out of love or importance.  It was plastic and cheap and making me feel toxic without even knowing it. 

As a creative individual, de-cluttering the mind is so important; you have to push away the clutter to let the inspiration trickle in.  Creating a clutter-free environment is a huge part of that.  I'm a big believer that the space you make around you is a reflection of what's going on in your mind.  I've proven that fact in my own life time and time again- when I'm distracted or depressed or stressed, the environment around me starts to mirror that with piles and messes and acclimation in general. 

Handing bag after bag to the employees at Good Will and looking back at my empty car and thinking about that empty Linoleum Room, I could feel my mind open  up a bit.  I didn't feel so weighted down and the task of packing up a Honda Accord didn't feel so daunting.  Getting to check that off my list was HUGE and now I'm wondering what to do for the next four weeks before I leave.

Up next: Plan a going away party (for myself because no one else will do it.  Harrumph!) and hoping that my drunken hipster friends will mesh nicely with my conservative and very anti-hipster family members.  I shall report back with hopefully only mildly disastrous details.

PS- Hope you all are well and enjoying your summers!  I'm tyring to catch up with all your blogs will be commenting soon.  I've missed you!

Alison Armstrong

A friend of mine turned me on to this artist a few days ago.  I absolutely love her.  When he said it was "kind of 50's pop art," I was skeptical.  I feel like the genre is really hit or miss with me; but  I was blown away when I visited her website.  Definitely a hit.  When you go to her site, make sure you check out her process.  At first glance she looks like to be a graphic designer but there's so much more to it than that.

These pictures don't do her justice; the colors on the website are stunning.  "City" is my favorite.  Which ones do you like?  One lucky commenter gets one for free.
Just kidding.  I can't even afford the prints, but I would  like to know which ones strike your fancy.

If it wasn't $800, it'd be perfect for a laundry room.

This needs to be in my house immediately.

The colors!  The wings!  I might cry.

Looking in to the Past

Stumbled upon this little gem a few days ago.

"25 photos that compare past snapshots of buildings, locations, structures, and people with the present day scene. Below are some of our favorites picked out from the hundreds of photos in the Looking Into the Past Flickr group by Jason Powell."


Here are some of my favorites:

All for the Love of Harry

{i imagine this is what my mind looks like.  found here}

For the past three days I've been noticing a remarkable amount of tweed jackets, dark rimmed glasses and laptop bags being toted around near our convention center downtown.  I didn't think much of it other than to steal some second glances at the dashing young men in their corduroy pants.

Turns out they're all hear for the AWP Conference- The Association of Writers and Writing Programs.  I found out today- the last day of the conference.  Why didn't I know about this?  Why wasn't there some heads up from one of my creative writing professors.  I'd like to think that's what they're here for but perhaps I'm mistaken- perhaps my tuition dollars should instead go to them ignoring my emails and not giving me back my portfolios; because that's been my experience thus far.

I am beyond frustrated right now.  The conference is in a different region of the US every year; it will never be this accessible again.  I was looking at the event list and had to click away before I really started to get upset.  Instead of listening how to make the most of a creative writing degree, market myself efficiently, and workshop pieces relating to the "fantastic" I'm sitting in a cafe about a block away from the lucky bastards that do.  Currently, I'm taking notes on how to read a topographical map.  The very thought is so infuriating.  I am stressed out, not writing, and completely bogged down by assignments and papers that will never ever get me to where I want to be in life.

It's enough to make me drop out of school again.  But my parents said if I graduate they'll take me to Harry Potter World.  So... obviously I'm staying.



PS- Literally the moment I put the last period on this post this the power went.  Meaning I had no access to the internet and no way to continue to do my bloody homework.  The only thing left for me to do- write write write.  Thanks universe!

The Prodigal Creative

I've been thinking a lot about fear lately.  Why am I so afraid to go after the things I want?  I want to write- I want to be a writer.  I want to do journal therapy too, I really do, but it almost become a purposeful distraction for me- it's okay if I never write anything of consequence, I'll just teach people to do it instead.  In all honesty, about 90% of my day is spent fighting off something strong and hungry in my belly screaming for me to write.

A person has come into my life recently that is forcing my brain to reconnect with its former creative self- where symbols and metaphors are okay to use in the course of a conversation.  It's uncomfortable, I won't lie.  I feel silly and cheesy and not myself most of the time.  We're pen pals essentially and I'm not used to turning a chat about my day into something poetic- be he does and it's authentic and beautiful.  I've started to mimic his lead- using my own words and style.  I've missed these words and the order in which I place them.  My rhetoric, my panache.  This person is pulling it out of me again and I'm just now realizing that perhaps his entrance into my life isn't a random coincidence- I'm thinking it is very much intentional.  My brain is being forced to engage in ways that it hasn't in a very long time.  It's not about "hey how are you, where did you grow up."  It's about "what did you see, where did you go, who and what did you connect with that made you feel , if only for a moment, alive.  Not in a breathe in breathe out sort of way- in a way that makes you truly aware of your existence in that moment."

This is what he told me "So my new friend Sarah (which by the way is a lovely name) I want to stress on the importance of writing. Submit your writing to all the places you can, knock on all the doors until your knuckles are bloody, and write until your notebooks are so colorful that when people read them their jaws drop wide with amazement. " I think I need more colored pens.


Last night, as I wrote to him, I remembered what I love so much about writing- the challenge of finding a way to say something that's been said a million times and understood by everyone- in a way no one has ever said it before.  That made me feel something- in that completely aware of my fingers and heartbeat sort of way.


I've been in a slump lately and I couldn't figure out why- the weather, school, money woes, etc etc.  I tried getting more vitamin D and completely ignored my school work.  Nothing was working.  Until last night when I finally tapped that right side of brain that was gathering dust.  Today I'm feeling more inspired   That familiar catch in my chest when Hoppipola comes on my iPod and I feel like I could grasp the whole world with the tip of my pen and still have room and love enough to lie in the grass and let the little bugs explore my skin.  


I'm afraid I'm not making much sense now.  And the only way I can explain it is that I feel alive again- connected and in tune with my mind.  At least a little bit.  And at least more than yesterday.  And certainly more than the day before.  I feel the electric buzz of creation in my brain.  And all it took was returning to the thing I love.

Finally

Finally this project I've been hinting at has come to fruition!

Shake the Dust is a blog my two dear friends and I have started to make this year mean more than they have in the past.  I got the idea when I realized how many people would raise their glasses to the new year in hopes of something better.  So instead of hoping for the best this year, I decided to do something about it and make a list.  To really take the time to do the things I've wanted to delve into the parts of my life that have been gathering dust for quite some time.  That's where the name comes from.  I'm shaking the dust off my life and seeking out new adventures.

Our lists may not be extravagant but they're intentional.  The goal of the blog is to experience, grow, and learn lessons to be shared with the rest of the world.  I hope you'll join us!

Shake the Dust.

Spring On the Brain

These go well with the bit I posted last week about the book planters.  *Sigh* I miss green things.  Everything is white and gray and cold.  The Spring equinox is in about a month!  My shoulders would like to greet the world again.

You can purchase these fantastic little bookmarks here.

Anaïs Nin

I've never read Anaïs Nin but I've heard so much about her; the crazy, the beautiful and the amazing spirit. I've been considering lately getting into some of her journals. I'm just not sure where to start. Chronologically? Or should I dive right into the thick of it and start with Incest where she describes in graphic detail her relationship with her father. Yikes.

She's so fascinating to me. Her life, although broken and messy, is one of experience and love, and I think that's all we can really ask for sometimes. She was well traveled, educated, and romanced with some of the most fabulous writers of the time. Not to mention she's absolutely gorgeous. I've been reading some of her quotes and her writing is absolutely beautiful. There's no way I can avoid this any longer. I'm off to the library.

A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom

Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. 

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman. 

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

People living deeply have no fear of death.

There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do. 

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country. 

Solace My Game, Solace My Game

{found here}

It's been a lovely and reflective Ash Wednesday.  My first actually.  Learned a lot and let go of even more.  I feel light tonight; in every sense of that word.

There's a lot of religious traditions I don't like.  But Ash Wednesday, I like.  It's about admitting your imperfections, your brokenness, and finding hope against all odds.

For Lent I will be drinking only water and donating the money I save to a group that builds wells in Uganda.  If you want to join, click here.

And this song has been on repeat for at least an hour.  It's got me all a quiver and electric.

The Fresh Air Revives Me, Fairfax

Spring is coming soon and this is exactly what I plan on doing with it.  Now off to a used bookstore to make these suckers myself.

I will most likely get frustrated and end buying some.  If that sounds like you as well, you can order them here somehow, but it's in a different language.  Good luck!

I Can't Believe I'm Doing This

Ok, so I know I've been plugging an upcoming project and that's still in the works.  It involves three creative girls who have a hard time agreeing on certain aspects of a blog, haha.  But it's getting there!

BUT, to satiate you deep desire for new and hilarious blogs, my dear friend Genevieve and I have started Less Than Three.  We've both signed up for three months of Match.com's services.  Oh my, there's a lot to be said for that site.  So many crazies in one place.  Lots of sweet people too.  We're not doing this to make fun of or intentionally lead anyone on.  Basically, as long as someone isn't obviously a "no" or sociopath, we're going to go out with them (at least I am, Genevieve might flake and only stick to the handsome ones).

It'll be eye opening, it'll be fun and it'll be a kick in the pants to read about.  Hope you'll join us!

Ef You Subconscious

{here}

The following is a conversation I had with my subconscious.

Me- You have got give me a break here. I have issues, I get it. And I promise, when I get a minute I'll work on those during waking hours. But when I sleep I'd really like to escape those dark, twisty and dysfunctional problems.

Subconscious (speaks in elitist, sarcastic british accent)- Sarah dear, I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about.

Me- Having me dream five nights in a row about a boy I'm trying desperately not to obsess over was obnoxious.

Subconscious- Well I'm sorry. I was under the impression you liked this boy, that you spent your waking hours day dreaming about what it would be like if he were to fall in love with you. Was I mistaken?

Me- Well, no. But I'm busy, ok? I don't have time for crushes. Especially if the crush is going to be on a boy who never says what he means and generally doesn't look twice at me. Having me dream about us being in a cuddly, happy relationship with a hilarious pug that giggles is just cruel.

Subconscious- Oh yes, I remember that pug bit. I thought that was quite creative. I assumed you would enjoy it.

Me- I didn't, ok?

Subconscious- Fine, Sarah, but when you pleaded to stop dreaming about him, didn't I accommodate you?

Me- Well yeah, but instead of a nice flying dream or something about Mr. Darcy, like you used to do, you pulled out the one thing that you knew would really hurt me.

Subconscious- As far as hurting you, Sarah, I really have NO idea what you're talking about. I simply changed subject matter, as per your request. You never specified who you would have preferred.

Me- Mr. Long Distance, subconscious. You know, the guy that I'm not allowed to talk about anymore? The guy that I absolutely do not think of. Did you decide to rub his oh-so-handsome face into the deep synapses of my brain to be a pain in my ass?

Subconscious- Now Sarah, no reason to become uncivil. What exactly did you dream that made you upset?

Me- Let's start with Tuesday night. When I was at church and the entire lobby was filled with every single one of his friends.

Subconscious- You have to admit, you were rather happy to see his brother walk in, weren't you?

Me- I was, until I saw LD standing right behind him, absolutely refusing to look at me. My favorite part was when his brother turned to him and asked if he'd say hello. He looked to the ceiling, turned his head, and said no. That was followed by me coloring with some little kid in the church nursery. I'm sure Freud would have a field day with that one.

Subconscious- And do you think Freud would say about that?

Me- ... that he made me feel childish and unworthy of his attention.

Subconscious- Hm. Very interesting.

Me- Don't try to analyze me. You are me so... just stop.

Subconscious- Are we done yet? I feel as if your getting a bit irrational.

Me- Oh no. I'm just getting started. You could've stopped there. But you didn't. Thursday night you made me sit down with his current girlfriend and have a lovely, and lengthy little chat. I can't remember exactly what was said, but that didn't matter to you did it?

Subconscious- No, it absolutely did not. I wanted you to remember how it felt. So please tell me, how did it feel?

Me- I remember liking her. Genuinely liking her. I don't want to like this girl. I want to hate her with every fiber of my being and assume that she is a smarmy, over bearing, crazy woman who has him in her clutches unwillingly. But now that this is the only impression I have of her, it's been impossible to shake. Thanks for that.

Subconscious- You're welcome darling. Are we finished?

Me- You know there's more. I remember wanting so badly to come off as awesome. My interior dialogue was loud and rambling. "Stay cool, Sarah. She needs to know you're mature and above her. She's asking for advice. Be a sage. She'll be intimidated. Show off your extensive knowledge of the world and how it works.... oh crap. No, that was bad. Why are you saying that? Shut up. Just shut up. I think she's pitying you now. Oh no. Yep, you're an idiot. Congratulations. She won." What was the POINT of that? Couldn't you have let me operating under the wonderful assumption that I am far prettier, funnier, and awesomer?

Subconscious- No, I'm afraid I couldn't, mostly because "awesomer" is not a real word. And if you can't understand why I won't let you go around blindly convincing yourself of something that may not be true, you certainly need a few more REM sessions with her. Wouldn't that be fun? Alright, well if that's all I should be going, I have a few ideas to develop for you tonight.

Me- That was a snippet of the transgressions I'm holding against you, subconscious. Every night I have dreams like that. I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to be taking away from this, because I assure you I've moved on from him.

Subconscious- Yes, dear. I've heard you tell yourself, ourselves, that many times over. So please, tell me what you think I was trying to tell you then.

Me- That because of all the stuff he has going on in his life, he wouldn't be troubling himself if she wasn't worth it? Sure, ok.

Subconscious- And what do you thin that says about you?

Me- That obviously I wasn't worth it. Well... yeah fine.

Subconscious- There's more here, Sarah, and you know it.

Me- That my biggest fear is running into him and that I'll probably throw up on his shoes and crumple into the fetal position if I ever did. And that if he ever called and said he'd like to give it another try I'd say "yes of course!" and never ask for an apology or explination and would finally feel happy.

Oh...

Subconscious- Yes, I dare say are you completely over him. *rolls eyes*

Subconscious- 1

Sarah- 0

Outlooks

Oh no, another prolonged absence from the blogging world. I'm seriously hoping this won't become a trend because one of my goals for the year is to really grow this blog and commit to it.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want this should look like, this little place where I go to spill my beans. What do I want it to be about and where do I think it ought to go. In a really simplified essence, all I want is an audience and quality content to give to them. I suppose you could construe "wanting an audience" as being a bit self involved and nihilistic. But let's be honest here, not many of us have blogs for totally selfless purposes. No one wants what they have to say go unheard.

So there you have it, my two end goals:

1) Audience

2) Quality content

But I also want to gear myself towards a better theme and concept. I named the blog "Hindsight" in a bit of a passive move many years ago, before I even wrote in it regularly. But I haven't been able to bring myself to change it. There's so much that can be found in Hindsight. Knowledge, regret, humor, the list goes on. But here's where you guys come in. Since you're the ones reading and commenting, what do you want to see from me? Do you want more pictures, more socially and globally aware posts (something I'd like to add more of this year), inspiration blogging, creative pieces I've written, sniveling boy drama (I don't really have time for boys, but if you want it, I can make some up). Let me know what you want to see, what you're interested. I want to research the world for you. Tell me where I should sail off to...

PS- I'll probably only be posting once a week for a while with school and all. What are your thoughts on that? Keeps you hanging and wanting? Or makes the blog forgettable?

PPS- A new project is coming up very VERY soon and I'm so excited to share it with you all. It's something that's really going to make this year something special.

{photo found here}

Shake the Dust

Heavy and Light started a year ago after the death of Casey Calvert from Hawthorne Heights. It's a concert put on by To Write Love on Her Arms who's aim is to bring awareness and support to those suffering from addiction, depression and self injury.

This is a video of Anis Mojgani, two time National Slam Poetry champion, from Heavy and Light.

Anis Mojgani performs Shake the Dust at HEAVY AND LIGHT. from To Write Love on Her Arms. on Vimeo.

This has inspired me so much on many different levels. I've been hearing so much about the pain in Haiti as well as the great sense of community that has arisen out of the tragedy. That coupled with these really encouraging and affirming videos from Heavy and Light has made my heart feel like it might explode at any moment.

I promise not to bug you too much with this, but as I read more from my friends in Haiti and how very much they need help, I have to ask you to please consider donating to Heartline by clicking the paypal button below or the link on the side of the page.

"So grab this world by its clothes pin and shake it out again and again. And jump on top and take it for a spin. And when you hop off, shake it again. For this is yours... Walk into it, breathe it in, let it crash through the halls of your arms like millions of years and millions of poets coursing like blood, pumping and pushing, making you live, shaking the dust. When the world comes knocking at your front door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up. And run forward into its widespread, greeting arms with your hands in front of you, finger tips trembling though they may be."

Very Important- Please Read!

In April of 2009 I spent a little more than a week in Haiti. The country is very dear to my heart and I miss it very much.

Today a 7.2 earthquake hit Haiti. There were twitter posts from a group called Hands and Feet Project that said they actually saw the mountain crack down the middle. People are crying out in the streets and under the collapsed hospital. The city of Port au Prince is in chaos and the palace is destroyed. To Haitians, that means there is no more government.

I made many friends and held many little hands during my visit to Heartline and thank God they are all OK. They are sleeping outside tonight because of aftershocks and structural damage to buildings that wouldn't exactly live up to standard US building codes in the first place.

The needs to be met are still unclear and the midwives and program directors are still in the midst of chaos, but one thing I am sure of is the need for money. Their security walls, which are 100% necessary in Haiti (along with a guard armed with a semi automatic weapon) all fell at the women's center, both orphanages and all the homes of those working for Heartline. That's just the start. When the shock of this disaster has worn off (and their internet is back up) I'm sure we'll hear the full extent of the damage. But a quick image search on google is eye opening enough.

In lieu of what's happened, I've added a PayPal account button. All money donated will go straight to Heartline.

If this blog has any purpose whatsoever, it's this: providing a voice to those who have no internet, no power, no plumbing, and no roofs. Providing a voice for the voiceless.

If you feel led at all to give, I sincerely thank you, and so does everyone at Heartline. If giving is an impossibility, and believe me I understand that, please send your prayers, good thoughts, vibes, or whatever it is you believe in to these beautiful people in desperate need.

"Please tell the world, Haiti needs them now."

See You when We Sleep

I dreamt about Mr. Long Distance last night. It's been a long time since that's happened. I was throwing a party in my basement. The particulars are a little hazy but I remember a DJ, disco balls and flashing lights. LD came in with a friend and his girlfriend. She was really trashy so at least my subconscious afforded me that much. She had that super long faded brown hair that was in desperate need of a hydrating treatment and shorty short dress that disagreed with her thighs immensely.

At the end of the party Roommate and I were cleaning up and she said he had stayed and was asleep in the chair. The one lone chair in the middle of the basement. It was brown corduroy with a bit of a wing back and a skirt around the bottom. Something your grandmother may rock herself to sleep in every afternoon after lunch and she watches her stories.

He was indeed passed out, curled in a little ball, his head propped up a little with his fist and his face in a bit of a dreamlike pout. I brought him over a blanket ands started unfolding it. My hand reached for his hair and as I ran my fingers through it, I began to weep. He woke up, looked at me blankly and said he had a phone interview soon. I nodded, left him with the blanket and went to my room.

Would you suggest I seek therapy if I said this was just as comforting as it was depressing?

Sparkle

She loved that on more than one occasion she'd roll over and find a well worn book to be her bed fellow. It truly made her happy to feel the raised markings on a notebook full of her own handwriting. She found it endearing that she often discovered pens in curious places around her room, in tissue boxes for instance. Think of that, to find yourself endearing! The truth is that she loved her identity her books and her writing. She loved what her spirit was growing into those days, something feathery that shone when the sun hit it just right. Despite the frozen ground beneath her feet and the ever persistent grey sky above her, she couldn't help but feel as if rays of light might burst through her at any moment. She held on to those warm feeling as close as she could because she knew they never lasted long.

Obsessing

I'm on a classic literature kick. Once I finished Pride and Prejudice I couldn't stop saying "thither" and "Daawwcy" all British-like. I'm alternating Austen with the Brontes (sorry, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to put those two dots on top of the E). I'm currently getting to know a young woman by the name of Eyre. It's amazing how the differences in their styles so clearly show the great differences in these young women's lives.

Despite being nearly destitute, I was walking past a bookstore the other day and popped in for a quick look and perhaps a bargain purchase or two. I came out with these. I know you've all seen the pictures by now. They've finally found a prize spot on my book shelf. I don't even remember enjoying the Scarlet Letter the first time I read it, but how could I not buy it?

I dare say Miss Austen is giving me false hopes for ever finding a chivalrous man with whom I can make love, as they meant in their time. If he is not a tragically flawed, socially inept, despicable man with genuine intentions, a quiet sense of responsibility, noble air and gentle yet serious way of loving (not to mention an awesome house and loads of money), I simply cannot bring myself to give him a second look. PS, have you seen this movie? It's three hours long but I loved every moment. It's clever and hilarious. If you have instant watch on Netflix, stop what you're doing and go watch it. If not, let me know. You can borrow my copy.

This trailer is a bit dodgy. If you want to watch a better one click here.