Growing Up

Life Through the Lens of a Big Kid


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Why Taking Time For Yourself Is the Most Important Thing You Can Do All Week

I like to be busy. And if I had to be slightly masochistic right now, I really enjoy being busy. I like it when my brain is running wild with thoughts about school, work, and things that I personally enjoy. For example, for the last year I have been learning French, reading books on cognitive science, recently learning HTML, and blogging. And these are just the things I try and do in my spare time.

We all have things we love to spend time on. Whether it’s the profession that you pour yourself into seven days a week or your family that you are consistently investing yourself into. We love throwing ourselves into things. Or at least I do.

This weekend I was reminded of the importance of taking time for myself.

It’s now a month into my last semester of my undergraduate career and I my senior recital is all but 19 days away (dear Lord). I am currently working three small part time jobs to piece together a livable income while also trying to piece together some sort of social life. Things are stressful – as life is, and this past weekend I was drained. I had nothing left to give myself or anyone else. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to study French, I didn’t want to blog. I wanted nothing. And then when I did NOTHING I didn’t feel any better.

Paranoia - A short story

On The Grey Flag

The old lady was staring at her. She knew it.

Four months ago, Julia had married the love of her life. Her husband, Mike had just been named head curator at the art museum where he was working in. She was three months pregnant with a boy they would call Joey and after Joey is born she would quit that stressful writing job of hers to be a full-time housewife. Nothing could go wrong in her perfect life.

The day it arrived, Julia and Mike were busy unpacking their luggage from their trip to Venice when the doorbell rang. Julia ran out to get the door and when she opened it and looked down, there it was.

The package was encased by a bubble wrap, with an additional layer of plastic over it. At first glance it was about two feet tall and one foot wide. Julia carried it into the living room and unwrapped it. The rectangular wooden frame in the package was old, but kept in good condition. Flakes of the golden paint that coated it were coming off but it was still a beautiful frame, with very fine carvings of flowers at its corners. But Julia didn’t notice that, her eyes were fixed on the painting in the frame.

It was a portrait of an old lady who looked almost in her eighties. She had a sharp chin and high cheekbones and her pale skin was weathered and covered in wrinkles. The old lady’s graying hair was tied up in a bun and over it she wore a white bonnet. She had a hooked nose, almost too big for her face, with a sharp tip like the beak of a hawk. Below that nose she had very thin and dry lips. The edges of her mouth slanted slightly upward, giving her a smile that looked more like a smirk to Julia.

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