The whole point of henna

Today mum and I went to West End Bakery for an hour or so between our schedules. We decided to split a cinnamon roll. I am utterly unable to eat a cinnamon roll just by biting into it like a dinner roll-- I like to slowly unwind and eat the coil. When mum and I sat down I just assumed that she would saw it in two with a knife and hand me half but instead we took turns pinching off several inches of the wound dough. We are similar in more ways than I think.

Today was good- I went to Brooke's and she and Grace and Julia and I ate and drank tea and ran around in the forest playing pop psychology games. I love pop psychology.

There is one exercise where you have to say your favorite color, favorite animal, and favorite body of water, and give three words to explain why for each of them. (If you do this and tell me what they are I will tell you what it means. It is most interesting, so if you read this please do and get back to me).

I picked
Brown: because it is earthy, exotic, and yet very plain at the same time.
Killer whales/orcas: because they are so smooth, and because they are playful, but yet seem wise at the same time.
The Irish Sea: Because it is stark, and cold, and in a way very spiritual.

I also went crazy with henna tonight, but it appears that the henna I bought doesn't dye skin very well. The whole point of henna is to dye skin.

I feel at the intersection of many things. Today, being in Fairview, standing in the parking lot of the Ingles, waiting for my mom to come pick me up, I felt dropped back down into this place. I do love a lot of it, but I feel like an anachronism. I am some character who shows up in the poem to jolt the reader, because I shouldn't really be here at all.

Today, at that coffee shop, I was talking to my mother about how God seems to work a certain theme in my life--namely that of my life not going smoothly, not working. My path just doesn't seem to fold out neatly and beautifully before me. I don't get the exclusive scholarships. I don't get great jobs. I wind up as a nanny for violent children. I spill water on my computer and I spill all types of food on my shirt and I buy henna that doesn't actually dye anything.

In response to all of this, my mother pointed out that very few peoples' lives actually work, and that no one ever related to people, connected with people, over being success stories. People usually connect over pain. And being successful would only isolate me and cause people to feel pressure to emulate me, not to talk to me about things.

She had some good points.

I'm hungry and want a cinnamon roll. I also wish my henna designs would stay on my body. I also kind of want to go to sleep, so goodnight.