Writing about writing

I have a list of ideas that I think could become entire entries here, but many of them are just sentences written out of context. When I feel like writing, I read over them and then stop myself because I don't remember what I was thinking when I jotted down that note. Still, I have to start somewhere so here are topics of future posts if I ever find the time, motivation, and context to elaborate upon them:

"I don't know what the truth is, I just know that what you are telling me isn't it."
I have this feeling often as a teacher and occasionally in other situations. It feels violating to know you are being lied to, but it is somehow worse when you don't know what the truth is that you are missing.


"I used to burn my candle at both ends. Now I rarely bother to light it."
My childhood was simple and full of play. I didn't take classes outside of school, play team sports, or go to summer camps. Summers I spent time with family and friends while camping or just hanging out in my house. I made up for that in high school and college when I was severely overbooked with singing, plays, volunteer work, social gatherings, etc. Recently, I find myself curling up with a good book instead of signing up for groups, attending social gatherings, or finding classes. Liam's life is full of groups/playdates/activities, but my life is full of Liam.

The next three kind of go together and they will be my last three of the night.
"Maybe fashion is to other people what grammar is to me."
"Clothes work because it is darker underneath them than outside of them."
"I'm still the girl who tucked her pant legs into her socks on cold MT morning walks to middle school. Dorky, but comfortable."
It is hard for me to read/hear poor grammar without wanting to run away screaming, but I could care less what I am wearing. It wasn't until recently that I understood that, or at least wondered whether, people looking at my ill-fitting out-of-style mismatched clothes felt the same way I do when someone says, " I be all up in her face for what she say.'" Does looking at me with my frizzy ponytail, cutoffs, and a shirt I owned in 1996 make their skin crawl a little?
I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I jotted down that second one, but it illustrates my childlike grasp of fashion. Can you imagine phosphorescent bodies in black-out-curtain-like clothing?
Being comfortable but dorky applies to so much more than just fashion. This is how I live my life. I care what people think, but not enough to be bothered to change my ways. I still stop to marvel at the small wonders of the world - like the flower that manages to grow out of concrete...I mean, DUDE! There is concrete all around you! How did you even know how to get to the sun? - because it is more comfortable for me to live in a world of wonder than to coolly ignore the little miracles around me. Fortunately, this little dorky habit is now acceptable due to keeping constant company with a toddler. Pants cuffs tucked into socks? Still unacceptable.