So my amazing brother is helping me put together a new website/blog for my business and I threw together these banners for the website :). I'm so excited- I feel like things are actually taking off! And this, this ladies and gentlefolk is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I do. I'm gonna marry a teacher and settle down with muh kids :)

I want to be a photographer. not a journalist. not a reporter. not even a photojournalist. i want to be a photographer. i want to have my own studio. a quaint little studio with large picture windows in the front and a little counter off to the side. a big fluffy couch in the corner. pictures hanging on the wall. a little doggie bed behind the counter for my dream dog. in the back will be a huge room filled with lights and cameras. assistants and tripods. and an office off to the side where i sit and edit and dream. and my husband will come downstairs before closing, for we live in the loft above, and will kiss me and help me close up shop. i'll reach up and flick off the open sign and the lights that illuminate the name of my studio which I have not yet come up with. and he will take me by the hand and lead me upstairs. i'll make dinner for him. ravioli maybe before we cuddle up in our warm little bed and listen to the winter howling outside, untouched by the wind. and by the grace of God, my place of work and my home will allow me to never have to step foot in the winter. i hate the chill that pierces my bones. i want to hide deep within a fluffy sweater, or the arms of a love. i was always like this... cuddly. my dad never passed down a chance to pull me up in his arms and hug me. my cats always tried to squeeze out of my chubby little arms when i tried to cuddle with them. i never took it personally. i just wanted to feel warm. to feel love. to feel completely wrapped in knowing i wasn't alone. i was cared for. that someone wanted to be with me. near me. holding me. i want to cuddle with my own child someday. i want a little girl or boy who pulls themselves up in my lap, just to be rocked and cared for. i could do that for them. i know i could. but getting that chance? i'm not so sure. i have two wombs, a rareity really... very very few women are like me. doesn't make me feel special. i don't really want to boast about it. it'll make it difficult for me to safely have a child. yes i could get pregnant. but the chance my baby could be happy and safe are very slim. and i don't know if i want to risk that. ever. it scares me. i think being alone scares me too. and the wondering if all this dreaming about my photo studio is just a waste. wondering if it'll even happen. if it'll even exist. if i'll ever have a place to hang an open sign. to welcome visitors happily with free cups of coffee and a warm place to sit. to have that loving husband who happily comes home to me. who wants me. who cares for me. who will watch me and gladly help me find that perfect little corner studio with the big windows. with the loft upstairs. that we can so comfortably sleep in. live in. together. with a child? a family? maybe. possibly. I think i'm too skinny to be a mother too... my frame can hardly hold my lunch, let alone a little person. i've been called small. little. stick thin. i just wonder if i look sickly... like i should be eating more before i blow away in the breeze. that perhaps my eerie blue eyes might sink into my head. while my giant bumpy nose takes attention. and my bony feet, lacking any curved arch... oh those feet. my nose. my eyes. my eyes: people stare into them and then look away after they catch themselves looking too hard, trying to figure out why they look the way they do. i wish i knew. they're light light light blue. sometimes almost grey. with a ring of navy blue strung around the outside. the only thing separating the light blue from the whites of my eyes. my dad has these eyes. so does my grandma. and the rest of her children. the meyer eyes. all the cousins have them. all 30 of them. except for one. she's adopted. i tend to wear a lot of blue to bring forth the blue, and not grey, in my eyes. I feel as if it makes them not look as unatural, and more of a beauty about me. my closet is a sea of blue, grey, purple, teal, and every once in a while a green. I don't own any pink. no orange. no yellow. no red. it's the cold colors i wear. which surprises me, after all i hate being cold, and these colors don't seem to make me feel warmer at all. not in the least. all of my blankets are cool colors. i have 2 blue blankets, a purple pillow, green sheets. my chair is blue. my couch is purple. my slippers turquoise. my favorite sweaters are grey. i have two of them, and wear them more often than i should. they are worn to a frizz, and are beginning to fade, as much as the color grey can fade. and i just wonder. i wonder. perhaps that is why my dream of owning my own studio... of being a photographer is beginning to fade. i am waring that dream to bits. turning it over and over and over in my head until there are holes in the dream. things that i suddenly realize might stand in my way. the bright exciting color of my dream is starting to dull out. seem less cozy and more scratchy, nervous, unsure. i fear i will, by the end of 2 years, by the time i'm ready to go out into the world and make something of myself, have made my dream seem raggy and old, not something to be desired, or even, dare i say, disappear completely, ground into the air. out of my heart. out of my head. and i shall be left, again, dreaming.

This semester is not what I thought it would be like. It's hard. At first I hand no problem boasting about how easy it was going to be for me... that I just had art projects to worry about. No papers. No books. Psh.

Every other day I paint. An apple. A landscape. Then move on to take a photo I captured and turn it into an elaborate work of art. Every other other day I design. A website. A powerpoint. A magazine spread. A brochure. A logo. And one day a week I watch. A film. Indians.

No. Art school isn't easy. It's a different type of work. Yes, you can type away on your keyboard about things in a book, things you discover, things you research. Yes, you may have to read other people's thoughts on different topics. Medical researches. History accounts. Fictional works. But I, and my classmates, our job is to create. Take nothing and make something. And that, that is hard work.

While I could be copying something out of a book onto an essay, I am brainstorming my own ideas, turning my dreams and thoughts into art. No. Art school isn't easy... but it gives me a higher feeling of purpose than I've ever felt.

much beauty in that. So much longing. And I miss capturing it. Perhaps I should put down my new little point-n-shoot, and pick up my dslr again to take hold of these tiny happenings. But for now, I need rest. My body is starting to tell me so, as usual. My back is aching, my muscles are tensing, my stomach is rumbling. In my mind, my arms are reaching out towards my bed, what I'm longing for. Ironic isn't it?

I haven't posted for a few years. I know why.