OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG!

I can’t believe it worked!

What i'm listening to:

Is That All There Is?
Peggy Lee
Is That All There Is?

I remember reading this book when I was young.

I can reread books, because I do tend to forget (or miss) a lot of details. Yet this one…

Considering my love for dogs, and my relating to Billy and his love for his dogs…

I know I’m going to be bawling like a li’l girl with a skinned knee.

Pro tip: Don’t go into a holiday weekend on a island resort with less than ⅛ tank of gas.

What i'm listening to:

Lights
Ellie Goulding
Bright Lights

If you’re not drizzling honey on your pizza, you’re doing it wrong.

Just saying.

Originally, there was a feature in the iPod that possibly made it smarter than any Apple devices since.

Yet, it’s been gone for a long, long time.

My beloved third generation iPod has the ability to affect dynamic playlists—on the fly. Seriously. My iPod nano, which isn’t much newer, lacks this same feature. And anything with a touch screen? Forget it.

I’ll explain: within iTunes, I can create a smart playlist that will consist of the last forty songs played.

For the doubters, this can be useful. Sometimes, we’re away from paper, or driving, or otherwise unable to simply jot a note—and we must rely on our memory to retain it.

We get to where we’re going... and, of course, the thought is gone.

Music affects memory. And if you’re a playlist hopper, like I am, it might be hard to remember what you were listening to when you had that particular thought.

However, if you have a smart playlist on your iPod that magically replays the last forty songs you listened to—without a computer, or the internet—perhaps you have a shot of reviving that memory.

Ask how I know.

Anyway, as I continue lamenting the loss of usability and innovation in Apple products, I recalled wanting to write about this for some time.

Funny how memory works, isn’t it?

What i'm listening to:

Tomorrow
Madi Diaz
Phantom

Last week, Tara and I had a conversation I can’t seem to shake.

Apparently, she doesn’t understand me...

I was at the laundromat, waiting for a load of clothes to dry. Which isn’t so bad. Anymore, I find I enjoy any opportunity to simply sit with no obligations.

I sent her a picture of one of the industrial clothes washers doing it’s job, to which she replied she was thinking about me.

Teasing, I mentioned I appreciated (formerly) having a washer and dryer of my own—adding on that this laundromat has an ice cream shop inside, for while you wait.

I guess it’s the best ice cream in town, which explains the continuous parade of pretty girls passing through eating their ice cream cones.

Confused, she commented that I don’t understand why she schools, and she doesn’t understand why I leave a washer and dryer to go to the laundromat.

I reminded her that my washer and dryer is nearly eight hundred miles away.

And she responded, “Yes, I know. Point was that you left that behind.”

So, I told her, “I guess we can just sit in appreciation that we confuse the shit out of each other.”

“Exactly,” was her reply.

I couldn’t help replaying the conversation in my head. Over and over. It’s a perfect illustration of the difference in our mindsets.

One thing going back to university has in common with owning a washer and dryer is: both restrict your movements.

I’m not going to lie. I’ve been particularly disapproving in my comments regarding her return to school. I don’t understand it. At. All.

When we talk, she’s envious of my life. My adventures. My freedom. Freedom from responsibility. Freedom from obligations. Freedom from relationship (at least with those who’d restrict my movements).

Yet, she’s afraid of the unknown. This, I understand. All too well. It isn’t that hard to walk away from life, responsibilities, obligations. Then again, it isn’t that easy either. Simple? Yes. Easy? Not so much. Trust me, I understand her trepidation.

For most of the time we’ve known each other, I’ve been comfortably trapped in a mediocre existence. Just like so many I know back home.

She still can’t believe I escaped. She still believes she can’t escape.

Interesting.

Nevertheless, I’ll keep inviting her to come see me. And to write. And to keep a presence in my life.

We understand each other better than she realizes. I don’t think we confuse each other. At. All.