Beautiful rainy Tuesday afternoon; deceivingly like a Sunday. It is a day to indulge in poetry and romantic short fiction, the saturated colour of the trees outside, crayons, and a best friend. I must work, but I will enjoy it.


"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

Thank you, St Jude. I like to think my mother was right. Perhaps it wasn't a big miracle, or I made it happen myself, but I like to think there is no misplaced faith.

Bizarre enough coming from me, but anything is anything is anything. I am stopping being silly, even if I make mistakes, and treasure my moments. I am not afraid anymore! What was I even afraid of?