Unabridged...almost.

JUNE EIGHTH. 2009
GOOD MORNING, SUN.
JULY TWENTY-NINTH. 2009

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8. June 2009

The sun has risen on a new book of words, a fresh book of Claire. Hey, that's me! There is drama in my life--I will admit to this upfront. But today is new, new, new. I am re-born. I have poked away at my shell long enough--it has shattered leaving my eyes fresh and blinking; big, brown and wide.

You know those days when you feel extra confident? Meet me, today. I'm liking my hair these days. It's getting long, having passed awkward-stage and moved on to just-feelin-good-stage.

You know those days when you decide not to live in the German House for a million different reasons, mostly because the only Pro is that your fluency would improve? (The list of Cons took up a whole page.) No more back up plans for me. I am making things happen--the way I want them to.

You know those days when you realize that two of your best friends share your major, which means you have to take the same classes anyway...where have I been?

You know those days when your dressy black work pants are secretly just as fantastic as Wal-Mart man sweatpants?

You know those days when you haven't smiled in a while and suddenly Everything makes you grin, Everyone is your favorite person, Everyprayer is answered in a weird I-know-you-don't-get-it-but-everything's-gonna-work-out-great way?

You know those days in Provo June where it pours rain and the Wasatch Front looks like it belongs in New Zealand?

You know those days when you just love life?

Happy June 8, 2009: a fresh day, an All is Well day, a good ol' fashioned good day.

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July 29, 2009

I am back to a ballpoint pen, red and white with ALPHAGRAPHICS-Provo-Lehi. My good black one absolutely vanished one day this week. It has to be somewhere around the big living room couch...
It is my lunch break: work break, computer break, people break, responsibility break. I take a break from all of you to NOT spend time eating, but to spend time reflecting.
ONE MORE PAGE.
Grooved, bluey table with nuts and bolts sticking to my foot's sole. Ziploc open with red grapes staring back through, firmly awaiting my teeth to make their juices explode. Set-apart missionaries walk by in pairs, groups of even numbers. Some are dressed to ball, others for suited proselyting, all are my heroes. All seem suddenly younger than me, but remain defiant, courageous, spiritually muscular beings.

My Nalgene smiles at me: Life is good, it exclaims through an open mouth.

HOPE!!! the table's edge yells at the top of its lungs. Someone wrote it in white with their finger.

My fingers are all I can use to remain hopeful and white, to live in block letters and exclamation points. (The sun beats hot--I gather and walk to the splotchy shade.)
I chew my string cheese. Bite, no string.
I feel the ground, heavy under my gravity.
Heavier and firmer than I, my earth will remain. It will bake me with sunny rays, sizzle me with rainy fall, frost me with snowy pearls, cover me with foggy blankets, shout me with thundery storms, illuminate me with scribbly lightning.

I must make time to write these things down.
I AM making time.

This morning I ached for hugs.
This morning I rolled to rap.
This morning I grinned at the surprise.
This morning I laughed at the message.
This morning I fist-clenched at the plans.

What do I want? Eh. I want these girls I be lovin. {backspace}

Wow. A last page for anything screams with intensity. But I keep writing, I keep feeling, I keep learning, I keep creating, I keep missing, I keep laughing, I keep hugging, I keep loving.

Watch me fly: I am a bird.
Good morning, sun: this day is mine.

Claire Sorensen
7.29.09
Love.