Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.

I have neglected you. It’s funny– when you have a blog through, they give you the stats of your blog including things like from what parts of the world do people read your blog (hello, Russia!!), what words are used most, what websites people use to find the blog, and how much traffic you get. Of course, traffic fluctuates everyday, and typically, I see major drops on weekends and over the holidays, but in my two years of blogging, it’s been fun to see my viewership go consistently up every month. Well, not anymore. This marked the first month since the beginning that we fell down a few notches. And for good reason! I am so sorry, dear friends, that I have been the worst mother of all time lately. There just simply is not enough time. And when there is time, there is no creativity. And with no creativity, there are two options: 1) Weak sauce, boring blog posts about how terribly busy and tired I am (posts that I have now re-read and have even bored myself with) or 2) No blogging at all (What I’ve been going with lately).

It hit me, the other day, that I may have lost a lot of my original flare when it comes to my writing style on this here blog. I used to find great pleasure in spending time constructing posts and crafting them to be witty and fun to read, but looking back, I realize that in that period, I had mountains of free time. That free time no longer exists. The once overflowing pool of relaxing naps, long, meandering walks and TV marathons now is dry and cracking mud forming random, sharp cornered shapes– ahhh! Shapes! This reminds me! I must stop blogging and get back to my apparel 1 final in which, not only do I sew multiple shapes together to create a dress, but I must also decide on a way to be apply the geometric shapes originally rendered in my initial design. SHAPES! SHAPES!!

But I digress.

Did you just see what happened?! At any given moment, with the mention of even the most simple words, I am taken back to what needs to be done and what I have to turn in and what I must soon create. I am a machine! A machine, I tell you! A shell of my former self– ahhh! A Shell! This reminds me! I must stop blogging and get back to my Ethnography final and begin writing my paper on the gentrification of Eastside Savannah– an area that some may argue, is a shell of its former self. SHELL! SHELL!!


Anyway, if you were here… in Savannah… in my room… you’d see a girl sitting in her bed with all the lights out in her room typing this post with one finger because the other hand is propping her squishy head up. You’d see lists. Everywhere. Creepy amounts of lists. Think Howard Hughes status. You’d see 4 empty mugs scattered around her room from the gallons of hot tea that she’s been drinking lately. You’d see exhaustion. You’d see panic. You’d see denial. And you’d see someone who just wants a good night sleep.

I’ve reached it. That point in the quarter in which it is possible for me to experience all of the following emotions in one day:

(Read: I did all of these things at some point today.)

1. In the middle (seriously– mid sentence) of giving a speech about community service to a room full of students, I called out two girls in the back of my class for talking while I was giving my speech. I may or may not have said “Excuse me– do you have a question?” To which they may or may not have replied “What?” To which I may or may not have said, “Well, I was just wondering if you had a question because you guys were talking and I was wondering if I needed to clarify anything about my speech… because I’m sure you’re talking about my speech, right?” To which they may or may not have replied, “No.” And then I may or may not have said, “Ok, well, I’m going to keep going with my speech then, if that’s ok, unless you do have any questions.” Hi. Major Biotch. Table for 1. Everyone in that class hates me. Understandable.

2. I definitely cried to this video today (twice):

3. Deliriously laughed until I made no noise when freestyle rapping about two tall people and one crack addicted baby with my roommates. 
This is finals. 
Please bare with me. I promise that one day this blog will be fun to read again.

PS– Mom, because I know this song is going to be stuck in your head all day.. at least watch the video… 

Fun fact: you’re going to think I’m lying, but “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” was the first song I ever memorized. I knew every word when I was 4. I promise. Picture a 4 year old Julia singing that song. It’s not that big of a stretch. Also, it makes me cry.

“Wow, it seems like Julia has mentioned crying like 480 times in this post. That’s somewhat concerning.”

What. Judge me. 

3 thoughts on “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.

  1. We will follow you /your blog to the ends of the Earth…we will stand by you through thick or thin…emotions and flashes of insanity…we may feel ignored when you're too busy to entertain us with your creative writing, but we forgive quickly, easily, and fully… So proud of you for working soooo hard, sweetheart….Kick the muslin's wattusi, babe!

    Did you really do that during your speech final?

  2. Ok…and…I got a little choked up too at the song, but even more at the thought of the lives that one person can touch and change, the hope one an inspire…who has God called you and I to encourage, to inspire, to lift up? In the craziness and “importance” of our lives, let's seek not to walk right by Them, but may the Holy Spirit alert us to reach out and share the hope He's given us.

  3. OMG – reading my second entry twice… is that really what you needed? a serious response? oh well.. your fault… you posted a serious, moving song, and it made me serious and moved me… and I'm a mom and old and I think about this stuff….

    just read this and your newest entry to the Donald — he loved it and laughed… He and me… we love you lots.

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