The office I’m currently sitting in (and absolutely loving) spent a good six months or so being our “just chuck that junk in there” room. For months it was a literal DISASTER with piles of random stuff all over the ground and definitely not a desk (or cute picture frame) anywhere to be seen. During that time, I was blogging from the couch, bed, kitchen table, ground… pretty much anywhere BUT a desk.
Most people fit into a few different categories when it comes to bullet journaling. Some absolutely love it. Others haven’t even heard of it. Some think of bullet journaling as the most time-consuming waste of energy there is. And then there are those who want to love it but end up hating it. I think most people (who already love planner/paper type stuff) fit into the last category.
Here’s the thing. I WANT to be a better host… because as much as I wish I could never invite a group of people over to our house again, it’s going to have to happen. So, I’d rather try to enjoy it instead of dreading it before and during the whole shabang. So, I did some research and deep soul searching introspection to figure out what us introverted souls could do to feel better about hosting events.
I recently visited the cutest, quaintest little bookstore and boy, oh boy, did it make me happy! There’s nothing quite like a local bookstore to lift your spirits! As usual, I wanted to buy the ENTIRE bookstore but somehow resisted the temptation and walked out with only one book. Also, as usual, I took about a million pictures of the front covers of books I want to buy later.
Personality tests aren’t just “fun” little tests that you can take if you want to. They’re actually necessary for understanding ourselves and others! Personality tests give us insights into our personalities that we would otherwise be unaware of- simply because it’s hard to see all of our own strengths and weaknesses. We can’t expect others to understand us if we don’t even understand ourselves.
To say I have a rough time before and during my period would be an understatement. I turn into a complete MONSTER- an alternate, in pain, evil, whiny version of myself that should probably hide in a closet until the whole thing is over. For everyone’s sake.
Until a couple of years ago, I could have cared less about my skin and nails. Shopping for skincare products, for me, looked like going to Walmart and grabbing whichever products were cheapest but still smelled good. Back then, I also had A LOT of acne, nails that looked like a 90-year-old grandpa’s (okay, maybe not that bad), and dry itchy skin that was just aching for anything but another $2 product to save it.
I used to be so completely obsessed with journaling that I was actually “known” for it, to some extent. It didn’t matter if I was at church or at a pool party… I always had my journal with me. It was the place I kept everything… my thoughts, plans, dreams, to-do lists, ticket stubs, and most importantly, my angsty teenage rants about boys and friend drama.
Fun fact (that’s really not fun at all): For the first 23 years of my life, my hair would not (and I mean WOULD NOT) grow past my shoulders. I was born with such fine, fragile hair that has always started breaking off whenever it gets to around shoulder length. When I say it’s fine, I mean really fine.