i just sat on "don't go" (my lovely green couch) for a couple hours and wrote letters. yes, real letters, with a pen and paper and everything. there is something wonderful about writing on a physical piece of paper to someone. don't get me wrong, i find email as amazing and necessary as the next person, but i think letters are far superior in every way.

before my writing spree, i finished a book -"song of solomon," by toni morrison. amazing, but disturbing and a bit depressing (for starters, the book begins and ends with suicide). but this is no surprise with morrison. i can't say i liked it as much as her others, but i think i need to give it some time. i love it when novels are so wrapped up in culture and history and family that they can't help but hit home as if you were reading your own grandmother's diary. i'm not a stickler for realism in art, i believe it's definitely a place where fantasy and idealism should be welcomed because sometimes it's one of the only places we can find that kind of hopeful optimism, but i certainly appreciate art that reflects reality in all its raw beauty.

just a few days ago i got back from a most wonderful week at home. it was a piece of peach pie after months of bran muffins. in other words, it was amazing. pictures to follow. peace.