Dress up like a cow and you get a free meal at Chick Fil A. Sitting in a room filled with people who have crafted homemade cow outfits can be described in one word: hilarious. I sat and pondered, as I took in the different ideas that individuals had concocted, what made them think to put a black trash bag over their heads, and staple white spots to their “torso”. Isn’t the that wrong way anyways? Aren’t cows white with black spots? A concept lost on some people. However “lost” these individuals may have been, merely watching these people glance around in anticipation to see how others reacted to their outfits, or how they themselves reacted to other “cows” was pure entertainment.

Not having quite the crafty hand that others seem to possessed I simply donned a black dress and white sweater. I was getting into the spirit of things…even if I was not fully qualified as a cow. 

I believe that little things like this are what make life so enjoyable. Why not take the time to dress up a little, paint your face with black and white make-up and march your way up to Chick Fil A for a chicken sandwich, french-fries and some sweet tea. Spend time with friends, make a fool of yourself. Live a little. 

If anger would not suffice
what then would pay the price?
If crying tears was all in vain
what then, would ease the pain?

An empty shell left out to rot
A master play, a spoiled plot
In and out—In and out
Dizzy from spinning about, about!

An adventure so easy to find
but when turned around, easily left behind

Every story has a beginning, every story has an end, but mine seems to be a blur; a mixture of  ups and downs constantly feeling the the way you feel when you get onto a rollercoaster. All you hear is the the roar of the tracks blocking out the voices of everyone around you. All you feel is the strong wind on your face, and the movements of your body with the sudden change in track. Every feeling is at its peak, you scream, laugh and at times you cry. It seems only reasonable to see how similar in experience a rollercoaster is to adolesence. 

I am sitting behind my desk, my mind frantically searching to collect and share my memories. Word for word, feeling for feeling. What I do not understand is how anyone expects me to remember every little thing that has ever happened to me. Sure I would like to give an exotic explanation of my semi exciting life, but to truly account for every exciting thing, dialogue is a must. But actually retaining every detail of every conversation that ever occurred in my 21 years of life is simply impossible with the capacity of memory space my brain holds.
To see life through the eyes of someone who remembers in avid detail every occurrence in their life must be something of a fulfillment in its own. Albeit their be moments and conversations best buried deep beneath sea level in a chest where no one could ever utter a word of it.
Would I have but a seconds glance into the psyche of such an individual.Finding words to amply describe an emotion is close to impossible, but the discovery of terms that allow one to portray an image left puny without imagination is like a child submerged in the depths of a candy store. Like a leprechaun at last discovering the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.