May the Fourth Be With You. Tee Hee.

This is the 2nd 4th I've been alone for. "Alone," though, is a relative term, and one of the ways in which I am is quite apparent. But when I dance around the kitchen while my dad bakes cookies and Skye raves in her aviators to "That's Not My Name," I can focus on what and who I'm surrounded by. Really, I always should. It's gotten a lot easier these past weeks.

To the Lucy who ran around the block yesterday to Regina Spektor's melancholy beats, fighting tears and ignoring her target heart rate because 193 bpm cemented her vitality, listen to me. You can be happy. Choose to.


Happy Independence Day, loves. While holding on to the force, reach for peace.

I wish I had the clarity to write more than stream-of-consciousness.

"In this state I shall not remain."

Not only does it rain on the just and unjust alike,
it rains on the Swiss and Australian alike,
the coal miners and CEOs.
And I can't know for sure because I was not in both places at once,
but I'm pretty sure the rain is bigger in North Carolina.
Bullet big.

I like being awake and alone until the playlist reminds me of how alone I could not be.

I'm building things by myself, and that's why they're falling apart. My brothers and sisters in Christ imagine my place in the kingdom to be crucial. In the depths of my psyche, from my tailbone to my toes -- I can feel the same thing. We're all crucial. But on the end of my cruciality I still tag "eventually." And I pray. And I pray and I pray. And I listen. And I smile.