Juxtapose

I love how this blog makes me seem so dark and brooding. Like, "Oooh! She has a black soul! And in it, there's a few red stripes! And her words are a cleansing white, symbolic of the healing powers of words!!" It cracks me up. And the plainness of it all is so nice to me. I hate not having links and all that, sure, but then again, I don't think webdesign is my schtick. Some of my friends are the creative people. They have the creative words, but their sctick is their art and pictures. I have no good pictures. I have no art. No exciting eye candy. Just words, and badly comma-spliced ones at that. They're good enough for me, anyways.

But I do really wear a lot of dark colors. I have a number of black shirts and black glasses and black black black. Black is a very clean color. I'd probably wear a lot of white too, if it didn't show food stains on it so badly. And that reminds me of one time when I was with a bunch of friends from Bible college and we were taking a little field trip down to see good old D.L. Moody (how fundamentalist Theology Major is that?). We were all talking about matching clothes and I said that I don't match clothes. Since everything in my wardrobe is in solid colors, I figure that there's nothing really to match, right? Jeans and a tee shirt - what does it matter what color the shirt is? So, for comic effect, I was telling one of my little illustrated tales of my daily life, detailing my morning routine. I wave my arms around when I tell these stories, and I make lots of exaggerated faces to drive the point home and get a laugh out of people. Anyways, I was talking about how I choose my clothes in the morning. Covering my eyes with my left hand to represent the morning blindness I experience for five minutes or so until I remember to put on my glasses and fishing around in the air with my right outstretched arm, I demonstrated how I select the outfit for the day, taking each garment out of the unseen closet and laying it on my lap with a flourish. I then took a theatrical sniff of the imaginary clothes in my hand (to test for freshness) and said that if they smelled washed they were probably good to go. Apparently the sniff was a hit, because all the guys started laughing, and Caity put her hands over her ears and told me that I wasn't being ladylike. hee.

Anyways, as I said. My words are my weapons. Language is such a beautiful thing. It can make the world laugh, smile, cry, bawl, scream.. It can break hearts and mend hearts. I love telling stories on this little black background with red stripes separating my thoughts. I love the way they line up across the page. I love talking about stories and people. The world is made up of them. It's quite incredible.