John 15:4-6

I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.

That's why we spent so many Sundays scrawling memory verses on card stock -- so that they would return to us as truths, as we fatten on Fruit Roll-Ups

log: the (previously) unexamined life

is still worth living(?). But there would be no record of it.

do judge me

It's been four weeks of breaking promises to my dad that I'd blog about Ireland. Thus I present a formula for a day in the life of an intern granola thief at hparc -- not too many variables.

At 07:03 (on the 24-hr system now), old friend Apple harp arpeggio interrupts some richly embroidered dream, and I lurch towards phone. To aid in transition to wakefulness, I exhaust each app under social tab of its little red circle (that's a new habit, too -- no more 41 unreads). I don't contribute to snapchat, instagram, wechat, etc., but I study them. I see you seeing my "seen at"s from the edges. 

Clang around in kitchen: take great pleasure in varying the degree to which egg yolks solidify. Eat breakfast fit for Otto von Bismarck, then erase it with Listerine. Listerine usage is a tiny, visible accomplishment worth mentioning. Wrestle with CC cream, which refuses to adhere evenly to my forehead; consequently avoid getting too close to co-workers lest they notice.

Trek to work in three sections: posh, bricky Ballsbridge to Merrion Square (noteworthy locales: Schoolhouse Hotel Bar Restaurant, Howl at the Moon: nightclub frequented by Dublin Googlers with hammered brass doors, Eurospar with trashy headline rack and free wifi) WOW I'm already bored of my voice never genuine am in awe of some profound short posts tumbled elsewhere basically all I do these days is become distracted at home at office in before the shoddy pianos cook to make up for it eat my Euros too and read Jane Eyre for vocab botox/just to report that I did I know how ridiculous I'm being I have so much but fail to repay my debts and the act of writing hurts and I'm too lazy to finish it now read between these lines what have I become

help, God

what am I becoming

(things I say to a known audience, with the intention of looking back in eight weeks with a known answer) (cue Apple harp arpeggio: still a major key)