Finian the plant. (i'm picking up the habits of an elderly woman at 25)

this is Finian. aka the shamrock plant i came home to one day after school, the week before st patrick i think. mum knows how obsessed i am with all things Irish. (also how i secretly want to be a gardener, because i like dirt and color and fresh air and hard work) i named him because he's lived somehow for almost a month now. i thought an irish name was fitting, yeah? it brings me a smallish smile in my heart to see greenery and life in my bedroom every day. its a reminder that i'm still growing. that God is still in the business of planting, watering, feeding, renewing souls.
it's also a spark of distracting thought trains that never reach a logical conclusion. sometimes i get lost in thinking about aerobic respiration and what's going on in the miniscule cells of that little plant; not unlike (yet so different) what's going in on my own miniscule cells. but i have God's breath of life that creates (soul). pretty much the biggest difference in the definition of "life". then there's the whole "what about the mind and human cognition as opposed to animal's cognition" & wisps of mostly-forgotten philosophy from Kant, Bavinck, Kierkegaard getting confused in my mind...anyway. where was i?

today, life is beautiful because of:

*Finian.

 *how the sunlight plays in and out of the bush i should trim back from my window. it flirts with the handmade curtains, turning cream to gold. i picked the fabric because it reminds me of a bazaar in some exotic country, Turkey or Morocco. not that i've ever seen one. but i've been picturing it since dad brought me a wooden camel from Morocco, the year my first little brother learned to walk. maybe i was 5, or 6.

now i'm rambling...sometimes i think if i can write ramblish about what i see it will kick-start the writing that needs to happen about things i can't. not sure creative introspective writing leads into argumentative essays on hippotherapy though...

 *Ludovico Einaudi. i'm obsessed. this Italian piano composer's songs are just...full. there's a depth and richness in them. some of his songs evoke specific scenes in my head, stories written in the melodies and notes. takes my imagination to fantastic places. some day, i want to write a short story inspired by some of his songs. thank God for the gift of talented musicians.

 *three more weeks of school. i can make it. i have to make it. only one more killer paper and Comp I is over F O R E V E R

 *awareness of human trafficking is growing. but it's not just becoming fad to 'support' the cause. there are more people dedicating their lives to the fight. more people following Wilberforce's footsteps. more of an outcry being raised, the beginnings of real change perhaps? it'll be a long, hard, mundane, exhausting fight. but perhaps our generation will pass on enough headway for the next to deal the death blow. as much as that is possible, at least.


i think my brain is stuck on "spastic shuffle"!!