I am a tired girl. I shouldn't even be up. I've been up close to twenty four hours hopping planes and band practices, and impromptu cake parties.

This morning, on my first flight (to Chicago), I got really excited. I love flying. Especially take off. I love the high speed rattling charge toward the end of the runway. Just like I always wonder if Elizabeth really will get together with Mr. Darcy, I always think we're not going to make it. How in the world do those things get off the ground? I like to pretend that we're not going to make it. I like to smile and picture us crashing into a million pieces. At the risk of sounding too Roald Dahl, it sounds like a sensational way to go. And then I look around and see the small children, and middle aged men who have families, and the fantasy slips away.
Whatev.
I like flying above the clouds, pretending it's the arctic. Every thing seems like a joke, seems like a fake from up there. Petty. Our little lives seem insignificant. But there is somehow this huge enourmous God that sees everything. The tiny specks make sense to Him, and they have souls.
Weird.

Band practice today was amazing. Yesterday I got really excited to play rock and roll again. I treasure even the practices now, because we have so few left.
No. I'm not turning into a sap. Not tonight.

The point is, life feels alive again. From the back of the boat, with wind blowing through my hair, life suddenly became alive to me again. And I'm going to hold onto that as long as I can.