checking the mailbox // a story + playlist.

Tonight, I had my first writing class of a series. We did some free writing. Get a prompt. Write for five minutes. Share. The third prompt was "I remember…" For unclear reasons lately, I've been thinking about mailboxes. What they mean for homes. What they mean for love. What they mean for communication. And in…

we embrace our love/friendship and go.

This weekend has been brutal. Why?  Oh, because my whole Texas-dwelling family was privileged enough to attend the Austin City Limits Festival. Brutal?  Because I couldn't be there with them. Convincing my brother to go see Pretty Lights: ...and getting back a rave review. Having texts sent throughout the days of favorite songs by favorite…

crying, smiling, singing, loving. magic.

My dad has had his moments.  By that, I mean he's a quirky, silly guy, but every once in a while, he'll blow you out of the water with sweetness. For the rest of this story to make any sense, you must read this old blahg post: https://rachellaurenmarie.wordpress.com/2010/12/24/love-is-there/ And if you refuse to do so…

hope i don’t get bored.

You know I love my dad... you do... I do... But I think he's trying to make me hate him...