I’m never lonely.

I have my overactive brain and my dog, who turns 2 tomorrow, by the way. Oh, and Taylor’s around here somewhere.

But I do get lonesome.

I believe there’s a huge difference.

I have approximately 7 more days of complete and total freedom.

In the last 6 days, I have devoured 4 and a half James Patterson books. He’s a complete freak and I can’t get enough of his psychopaths.

Once upon a time, I went to a liberal arts Christian college, which I thought meant you could talk about a lot of stuff but never do it. Meaning, I gave up reading for pleasure. It felt so guilty. I know. You don’t have to say ┬áit.

Until then, I had read myself to sleep every night of my life. My elementary school librarian would send home 100 books with me over the summer and I honestly read every one of them. I was almost like a sleepwalker. I’d wander around with a Beverly Cleary or a Harriet the Spy in my face and try to make a sandwich while balancing a chapter and a knife. I can literally associate certain flavors with certain characters. I will always see the Secret Garden if I ever eat a bacon cracker. Which is super awkward in writing but super right in my own mind.

I also got caught a lot in high school with paperbacks in my textbooks. No wonder I have no idea where the Carolinas are. I just know they swelter and have mad awesome trees with moss.

I’m pretty sure I want a bacon cracker right now.

And a secret garden.

Or at least grow my own cilantro.

I need to replant Torrie’s Venus Fly Trap. It’s a very valuable part of the family.

Glad we could have this little chat.

Don’t forsake me.

Things will get better from here.

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