this will be the summer.

If I want to be a writer - I will do it.
If I want to be healthier - I will do it.
If I want to pay the rent - I will do it.
This will be the summer I do what I must.

So, I have decided that I need to go back to being myself. I will begin reading over my novel and editing it as well as adding to its pages. I will go to Bally's five out of the seven days of the week before work to become healthier. I will work everyday and not miss any so I have the money to comfortably survive on my own. It's strange how quickly a child has to become an adult - no matter what. It's frightening - my first summer away from home and in my own apartment. Yet, I will do it. I will write; I will work out; I will work. I will survive like I have before.


She climbed out of the ditch, her car spread across the tar in bits of broken glass. The color seemed to had faded from a maroon to crystal and she dared move an inch. She was stranded in the middle of the summer, in the middle of a bed of fire that surrounded a body so fragile and tired.

She knew she could do better. She knew she had faced death more than once and could survive past this trial. She got to her feet, brushing the gravel from her stone-gray jeans. She began to walk, pressing the number 911 into her phone. She knew she could get help and she knew she had to keep her head looking up towards the clouds that washed past her eyes with the brightest of whites.

The angels has carried her once again and would continue to be her shadow.