New Year, New Look, New Life

I decided to give this here page a little makey-makeover.

It's still in the process, but I like where it's headed. So you'll have to wait....

And dance like there's no tomorrow

 :)

With Grace, Poise, and much Elegance,

Eliza

P.s. The new title rhymes with the old one. Awkyawk.

To my Four Devoted Followers

I must apologize. I have gotten so caught up in thinking that I'm no good at blogging because I don't have enough artsy fartsy in me. I was forcing unnatural linguistics. But no more.

A certain blogger helped me realize that everyone's style of expression in the blog world is different. Duh. So I'm looking forward to this new self-expression. Eliza Style.

The ugliest Christmas tree.

*

Stay

home

sleep in

bunheaded

swiss up top

sweats down below

little-no makeup

fudge, carmels, cocoa,

chocolate, eggnog, chocolate,

don't forget the sturdy cowgirl slippers

not one sip of communication to the outside world.

zero.

Just me, 

my sweats, 

and my fave movies.

This is what I call the Holidays.

P.s. Today, a legendary burger joint ended it's business. I had my first and last Range Burger yesterday at Parkey-parks. First because I haven't had a real burger in years (I'm allergic to wheat and yeast... it's an extremely long story) and last because, well, they closed today. :( What is to become of the citizens of American Fork?

The Question

Dear You,

Yes, You.  You won't ever read this, because you are presently on a mish mish.

But I'm battling in this brain of mine about things crucially related to you:

Shall I or Shall I NOT write you a letter??

I'm afraid. I don't understand why exactly. 

Is it that You won't write back? 

I already know you won't because you told me so. 

Or maybe it's that you will? 

Yep. I think that's the one.

I don't want to be a burden. I don't want you to waste time on thoughts of me if you don't want them there in your busy missionary mind. I don't want you to feel obligated to write me back. Because you KNOW you don't have to. But all at the same time, I want you to? I guess, amidst all the confusion of meaningless mumblings and mutterings, I'm trying to ask you if you care about me. Even just as a friend?

You know I'll come running if you just ask.

So. I'm still here.

love, me.

And to the Readers:

Please aid me in this decision. Please.  

Am I crazy? Should I risk writing to him?

Far Gone.

My feelings are far far away. 

I haven't shed tears in quite some time,

And that's a pretty big deal for me.

It's splendid, really. Except for 

when I've grown numb to the relief of

joy and laughter.