I used to think poems had to rhyme. Blogging has helped me appreciate the beauty of artistic musings and other such poetic things. I still like when poems rhyme. I still cannot quite write it... but I love reading it.

No teeth at all. Dentures. Orange-red hair with white roots. Mute. 11 a.m. snort of scotch with a friend. deceased. . . I delivered meals on wheels today with a friend. It was rewarding, as I told it would be. My heart wanted to cry with pity and laugh with joy... people holding onto the only memories they have amidst a house they cannot keep up with and pictures that take over their walls. Blaring televisions, open front doors so that only the screen is shut and you are more than welcome to enter and chat for a while. Some seemed so alone and others seemed so alive. A warm smile and a quick exchange of greetings was all I could give, but I hoped something more was shining in my eyes...

Another trip to the pool to realize having twelve kids will be harder than I think. Thankfully no children drowned in the process, and hopefully the routine will run smoother next pool trip.

I should be in bed. Once again, the freedom of summer takes hold. I'll pay for it tomorrow, but until then I think I'll hold my eyes open a little longer and evaluate life as a 19 year old... so many hours...