And so you would think I'd keep along with writing every day if it were as easy as blogging.

But no.

This, even this, I need to be reminded to do. BUT - I cannot be too hard on myself. Rather, let me just tell you this:

Encouragement is imperative. Tell people when you appreciate what they do because it's a high chance you will not realize how much it means to them. Thank you.

And so these meanderings from the day:

I remember much of today, but in such flashes. Don't you find that true for yourself, too? Mostly, there are colors and shapes in my mind that materialize but a moment as if to say, "Remember? You worked today, you ate today, you read today, you emailed, you did that and you did this. For an hour I did what? Yes, you wasted that time [or] that time was well-spent. You were productive, you were lazy." Flashes. Recollections. I see the flash of a large rectangle desk with fake wood - the register area at Gap. I remember a window I looked out of when I was in a friend's car minutes before I was at work, I smell the leather seats and I can still feel the ribbed steering wheel under my palms, can remember the shapes of the chairs I sat in when I got my hair trimmed at noon, distinctly recall the exact colors of the highlights in Casey's hair as she cut mine and we talked about wedding plans and about her young daughter. I remember walking out of the hair salon and wincing for fear of a breeze but I was greeted by the sun beaming onto the street corner and into my eyes. I squinted. I remember the mother and her son who walked into the store today and I laughed to myself as I watched the young boy stick his hands into his pockets and saunter after his mother with a swagger far superior than my own.

I remember reds, blues, khakis, and purples. I especially remember purples.

"Aesthetics" is what you would call it, I believe. Sensory, perhaps. I do not know the technical terms of it. Do you remember in colors and shapes, in smells and textures? I remember going to a party, talking with a friend whom I hold dear but rarely see, if ever. We spoke of New York, of Pratt and its atmosphere - the artists, the creative genius, the ambitions, the potential. We spoke of her sister, who feels at home there. I remember the yellow package I received from them, thought about when I was determined to study photography at Pratt. How easily we let dreams drift.

I remember hugging a friend goodbye, remember laughing with someone about something fleeting, remember beginning to lose my voice because of a cold and of yelling over noise.

Remember, remember. Practice and do not forget because - my gracious, life is so precious.