so they tell me that...

Wikipedia tells me that failure is: the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective. It may be viewed as the opposite of success.

I suppose that this makes sense. I know that I would love to be able to do a handstand. Heck, I'd settle for a simple cartwheel! Except that I can't do either, which means that I'm not meeting my intended objective. So yes, it's not so desirable. Who actually wants to fail?

The part I don't quite agree with, however, is that it's the opposite of success. I know that it sounds like a crazy thing to say, but in all reality, both are just building blocks for something greater. We build character in our mistakes, and confidence in our successes. It's all a learning process.

So no, I can't do a handstand, but to be honest: it's not such a big deal.

sun in your eyes

When I woke up this morning (thankfully an hour later than normal, due to the glorious invention of the spare block), my room was flooded with light. It was one of those mornings where you wake up with the sun directly in your eyes but you don't mind, choosing to simply bask in the warmth of the light surrounding you.

I stretched luxuriously and threw my sheets to the side, sat up, cracked my back, and looked at the clock. The time was slightly later than I intended to get up, but left me plenty of time to stroll leisurely around my house in my underwear as I got ready for the day.

These are the mornings I love the most. Getting up is not a chore, and there is no hesitancy in leaving the warmth of my blankets. I feel ready to face the day and eager to see what is in store for me. These are the days I love the most.

resistance is futile

As much as I try to prevent it, my bedroom floor seems to be a magnet for all things that should really be put away and taken care of.

From my spot here at my desk, I can see more things than I care to admit: magazine flyers in a language I do not know, piles of books that I have convinced myself I need to read, and various school supplies spilling out of my school bag, which is perched precariously on the top of a tremendous pile of clothes I haven't worn recently.

I can see no fewer than four empty purses, flung aside when I decided that they didn't really match my shoes after all, several CDs borrowed from a friend, my towel from this morning's shower, and the entire contents of my jewellery box tipped over by my dog, whose chew toys I happen to see peeking out from underneath my pile of fashion magazines.

My favourite shoes are somewhere near my door, but I haven’t seen them in a couple days so I couldn’t say for sure. Under my television stand there is a stack of rented videos, which are overdue but I can’t take them back yet because my wallet is missing.

Things tend to go missing a lot, I’ve found.

Just yesterday I was thinking that I should organize my room, clean everything up, and never have to worry about losing things again. After this thought it occurred to me that there was no need, my room was half clean anyway!

...the ceiling does count, doesn’t it?