tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034977628922149982024-02-18T21:29:15.167-05:00The Recreation of ArtSlowly changing the way people look at art.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-77888301405575452162012-03-29T23:37:00.000-04:002012-03-29T23:37:07.166-04:00The Rules of Creation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23EaVawjop866ikh7nr2At4V1SHj9p7v6FVwiqN0a48v7_W7iaJ3Fmv1MYrG7lwMTtRMgiWqQrRvWqg7oRtuNMgOpi0CBkftHuQPtFvk_CoduIFntcIbqHtuoY2kocVrOFrRKgz-ft1ci/s1600/Creation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23EaVawjop866ikh7nr2At4V1SHj9p7v6FVwiqN0a48v7_W7iaJ3Fmv1MYrG7lwMTtRMgiWqQrRvWqg7oRtuNMgOpi0CBkftHuQPtFvk_CoduIFntcIbqHtuoY2kocVrOFrRKgz-ft1ci/s320/Creation.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The creator will always be conditioned to fear his creations. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The creation in turn fears progress. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Quite ironically so, the creation forever remains as progress.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Just a thought.</div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-46357647702920493932011-12-06T23:57:00.000-05:002011-12-06T23:57:33.316-05:00Insanity<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFXKvRMpKXTdcqSAuZ85S-2nILlhcQnkTgOsN5cb6KcsgiqBm8Nci7odJp5N8P9LShoVN6-oxzI9XBc_UE-pUQVSa-y5ZZgLyvMM5qCqeGvE-A3gywH9hCTiHUrEEP6StB_q8EuvmqNgd/s1600/Insanity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFXKvRMpKXTdcqSAuZ85S-2nILlhcQnkTgOsN5cb6KcsgiqBm8Nci7odJp5N8P9LShoVN6-oxzI9XBc_UE-pUQVSa-y5ZZgLyvMM5qCqeGvE-A3gywH9hCTiHUrEEP6StB_q8EuvmqNgd/s320/Insanity.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>How far must one think to approach insanity</b>?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Are the strides taken with a hint of </b><b><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">absurdity?</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">Maybe it is hidden within our long forgotten memories. </span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">We can all have a </span></span><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">systematized</span></span></b><b><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;"></span></span><span class="ResultBody"> mind.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="ResultBody">I prefer the irrational dismay of borderline insanity.</span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="ResultBody">Is reality just a phase?</span><b><span class="ResultBody"> </span></b></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-90702427635739998882011-07-07T03:25:00.000-04:002011-07-07T03:25:23.744-04:00She grows weary; it grows strong,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYO0eG6Gg_H8yXoYFDhaNxzxNSzvTufY5W2eRG_tSpIdRh9y1ba1W-gfcXac9lvQJdGsnX4U5o8vgPiR63G9Qi-_3TsOIYa7JHZy6Dx8qvLSO6XW4TQI-vbnsKat4FJ1E_z1NAFTo-Uoy/s1600/AOP+Pills.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYO0eG6Gg_H8yXoYFDhaNxzxNSzvTufY5W2eRG_tSpIdRh9y1ba1W-gfcXac9lvQJdGsnX4U5o8vgPiR63G9Qi-_3TsOIYa7JHZy6Dx8qvLSO6XW4TQI-vbnsKat4FJ1E_z1NAFTo-Uoy/s320/AOP+Pills.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>It's lies spoke louder than life,</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>and her mind was already a destruction in the making.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> It called for her; longed for her, </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>and that's more than she could say about anyone else. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"I don't understand," she said.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> "I can fix that," it replied.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We all have our own personal "it" in our lives. Whether they be human or inanimate, at one point or another we all rely on something to make sense of it all.</div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-40463604202613674942011-06-08T17:15:00.000-04:002011-06-08T17:15:25.026-04:00A Curse Upon Two Worlds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mp-S5PffyvIL1WS029iiOqa3AquElSPaefsbczQJnFgMDFayJ2gGlkZT_Sjf3R6q0428bVqybrh4vN7w8YkMgmfsva4M4l7PIB3sNdotBTAnyyy2ZQ4LlpehWa4jrBikSoRUoVsjZcyH/s1600/Opposite+ends+CA.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mp-S5PffyvIL1WS029iiOqa3AquElSPaefsbczQJnFgMDFayJ2gGlkZT_Sjf3R6q0428bVqybrh4vN7w8YkMgmfsva4M4l7PIB3sNdotBTAnyyy2ZQ4LlpehWa4jrBikSoRUoVsjZcyH/s400/Opposite+ends+CA.png" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>At opposite ends we will fall,</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> To convene once more; a calamity. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> The voyage for reconcilement shall be our guide. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Upon the moments of coalescence, we shall forever be parallel. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>This being the curse of both worlds.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">They are both so alike and gloriously opposite. </div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-83805425050368660712011-01-12T23:46:00.000-05:002011-01-12T23:46:26.606-05:00Invincible<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBe1-urtDDDPm0f1wVqlf7D46qKtjfoJUI1yDr__odEvS7SqYJX4xr13ePredFw6iJ5L8y_hhuhJaP78JpJirkPi-j8ryhG5rFdbi5JNtiwj411_k_5lTHXKy14tUkELcuv6zJ4Xmx9YE_/s1600/AOP+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBe1-urtDDDPm0f1wVqlf7D46qKtjfoJUI1yDr__odEvS7SqYJX4xr13ePredFw6iJ5L8y_hhuhJaP78JpJirkPi-j8ryhG5rFdbi5JNtiwj411_k_5lTHXKy14tUkELcuv6zJ4Xmx9YE_/s320/AOP+013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center"><strong>The infinite vastness of the world was endless</strong></div><div align="center"><strong>and we were invincible to it's clutches.</strong></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">They all seem so little down there. With their perceptions and ideologies.</div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-59298818637271019442010-12-30T17:55:00.001-05:002010-12-30T17:55:45.126-05:00The Inevitable End<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbKB9NxbRcTWRKgFhej_5GA_J5Hhsg97lbV8k8yJEBqORrJEBPGRqhGmH0fy59Ib3ZN8Ord8MGuIXmCvAuPT5dp1H9N1CuH2_8dTvetKMp5A6yv-SqoEakJDvY1yWEuOgALLJJr59HDoK/s1600/AOP+Watches.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbKB9NxbRcTWRKgFhej_5GA_J5Hhsg97lbV8k8yJEBqORrJEBPGRqhGmH0fy59Ib3ZN8Ord8MGuIXmCvAuPT5dp1H9N1CuH2_8dTvetKMp5A6yv-SqoEakJDvY1yWEuOgALLJJr59HDoK/s320/AOP+Watches.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">The clock starts.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Seconds, minutes, hours,</div><div style="text-align: center;">all lost to the inevitable end.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But who cares?</div><div style="text-align: center;">It's not like we could stop them.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The clock continues to tick.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Uncontainable by man,</div><div style="text-align: center;">for time had no one to yield to. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Unavoidable with the exception of death.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But we all had that option right?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sure the inescapable <span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">rationalist</span></span>s say otherwise.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But those were all just ineluctable facts.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The clock smashes against the wall,</div><div style="text-align: center;">only pausing for a moment. </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-52763934154480845802010-08-18T00:59:00.001-04:002010-08-18T01:01:11.804-04:00Future Regrets<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUgJjnxZO7rPt3sFpN2MYlnaNqEFIJ_CiZE5d5jM_T2E3EblmzmmfXxIi6FfbLjrJoUUFCstMTuAx56FE4NKkgJeTo-6nehe9OZV8w4A3mg_7bs4RWBHaELOBvmgii_4gk4M8w_PAwYhC/s1600/Dark+Lite+Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUgJjnxZO7rPt3sFpN2MYlnaNqEFIJ_CiZE5d5jM_T2E3EblmzmmfXxIi6FfbLjrJoUUFCstMTuAx56FE4NKkgJeTo-6nehe9OZV8w4A3mg_7bs4RWBHaELOBvmgii_4gk4M8w_PAwYhC/s320/Dark+Lite+Sky.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>We have to break out of this town </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>and when we do I promise you'll never feel safe again.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Some people have such a false view of reality. No one wants to fear their own existence, so we cover our fears with soft lulls of remorse toward the future. </div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-86194438702151509772010-07-20T22:34:00.000-04:002010-07-20T22:34:45.832-04:00Tied Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgleIa3M2vC4q79kKllvgTYywQFI9Ew9Of1sU71Zhyphenhyphen4ElfFcRo7fHN1VAbYyg32SuN3ml5TCAHKCQ6Fs_Ero10RBxNpykdXN4DEKID0gA8LE0wviBX4AZZit1IuZgsOy0gFzE4bdjTSsYBe/s1600/NEWEST+10%27+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgleIa3M2vC4q79kKllvgTYywQFI9Ew9Of1sU71Zhyphenhyphen4ElfFcRo7fHN1VAbYyg32SuN3ml5TCAHKCQ6Fs_Ero10RBxNpykdXN4DEKID0gA8LE0wviBX4AZZit1IuZgsOy0gFzE4bdjTSsYBe/s320/NEWEST+10%27+002.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>I shouldn't have let them tie me up,</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> for now i feel my freedom won't be worth much.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div>It would have been easier to stay free from the start, to venture out and find new beginnings.Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-84956944923329163872010-06-13T02:23:00.001-04:002010-06-13T02:23:52.814-04:00The Infamous Question<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiqztEO3Kj6BfgRVkLcLEXJDrwrm3uXQorn7GuGFJ9xxdL3cv9sJIQ74No_RHcNHOyN-ImJMSKznaCQbCkd7jssdYwKZC3yLKJB52qOUPTHCYh9dKW2y6NTB7ay5_PWOCOks5rGQKtXt5/s1600/bird+Lady+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiqztEO3Kj6BfgRVkLcLEXJDrwrm3uXQorn7GuGFJ9xxdL3cv9sJIQ74No_RHcNHOyN-ImJMSKznaCQbCkd7jssdYwKZC3yLKJB52qOUPTHCYh9dKW2y6NTB7ay5_PWOCOks5rGQKtXt5/s320/bird+Lady+-+Copy.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Her motives may be questionable,</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>but can you blame her for living her life?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Walking threw the city, there was a old woman feeding birds. One of the birds lured in closer, were promptly stuffed into a plastic bag and pushed down a backpack. To question what she was doing with the birds is curiosity, but to judge could be considered immoral?</div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-80313084659877378172010-05-05T20:08:00.001-04:002010-05-05T20:10:59.022-04:00Absolutely Nothing by Osoanon NimussNormally I try to stick to a regular setup for my posts, but yesterday I read (and reread several times) a poem called "Absolutely Nothing". It has been making me compare my life to this child's. What does it make you think about?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td valign="top"></td><td valign="top"></td><td valign="top"></td><td valign="top"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines<br />
he wrote a poem<a class="kLink" href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/absolutely-nothing-2/#" id="KonaLink0" style="position: static; text-decoration: underline ! important;" target="undefined"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 400; position: static;"><span class="kLink" style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom: 1px solid blue; color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 400; position: relative;"></span></span><span class="preLoadWrap" id="preLoadWrap0" style="position: relative;"></span></a></span><br />
<div id="preLoadLayer0" style="display: none; left: -18px; position: absolute; top: -32px; z-index: 2147482647;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;"><a class="kLink" href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/absolutely-nothing-2/#" id="KonaLink0" style="position: static; text-decoration: underline ! important;" target="undefined"><span class="preLoadWrap" id="preLoadWrap0" style="position: relative;"><img class="preloadImg" src="http://kona.kontera.com/javascript/lib/imgs/grey_loader.gif" style="border: medium none; height: 22px; width: 22px;" /></span></a></span></div><div id="preLoadLayer2" style="display: none; left: -18px; position: absolute; top: -32px; z-index: 2147482647;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;"><a class="kLink" href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/absolutely-nothing-2/#" id="KonaLink2" style="position: static; text-decoration: underline ! important;" target="undefined"><span class="preLoadWrap" id="preLoadWrap2" style="position: relative;"><img class="preloadImg" src="http://kona.kontera.com/javascript/lib/imgs/grey_loader.gif" style="border: medium none; height: 22px; width: 22px;" /></span></a></span></div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">And he called it 'Chops'<br />
because that was the name of his dog<br />
And that's what it was all about<br />
And his teacher gave him an A<br />
and a gold star<br />
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door<br />
and read it to his aunts<br />
That was the year Father Tracy<br />
took all the kids to the zoo<br />
And he let them sing on the bus<br />
And his little sister was born<br />
with tiny toenails and no hair<br />
And his mother and father kissed a lot<br />
And the girl around the corner sent him a <br />
Valentine signed with a row of X's<br />
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant<br />
And his father always tucked him in bed at night <br />
And was always there to do it.<br />
<br />
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines<br />
he wrote a poem<br />
And he called it 'Autumn'<br />
because that was the name of the season<br />
And that's what it was all about<br />
And his teacher gave him an A<br />
and asked him to write more clearly<br />
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door<br />
because of its new paint<br />
And the kids told him<br />
that Father Tracy smoked cigars<br />
And left butts on the pews<br />
And sometimes they would burn holes<br />
That was the year his sister got glasses<br />
with thick lenses and black frames<br />
And the girl around the corner laughed<br />
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus<br />
And the kids told him why<br />
his mother and father kissed a lot<br />
And his father never tucked him in bed at night<br />
And his father got mad<br />
when he cried for him to do it.<br />
<br />
Once on a paper torn from his notebook<br />
he wrote a poem<br />
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'<br />
because that was the question about his girl<br />
And that's what it was all about<br />
And his professor gave him an A<br />
and a strange steady look<br />
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door<br />
because he never showed her<br />
That was the year Father Tracy died<br />
And he forgot how the end<br />
of the Apostle's Creed went<br />
And he caught his sister<br />
making out on the back porch<br />
And his mother and father never kissed<br />
or even talked<br />
And the girl around the corner<br />
wore too much makeup<br />
That made him cough when he kissed her<br />
but he kissed her anyway<br />
because that was the thing to do<br />
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed<br />
his father snoring soundly.<br />
<br />
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag<br />
he tried another poem<br />
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing' <br />
Because that's what it was really all about<br />
And he gave himself an A<br />
and a slash on each damned wrist<br />
And he hung it on the bathroom door<br />
because this time he didn't think<br />
he could reach the kitchen. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-38225176183104888252010-04-13T17:43:00.000-04:002010-04-13T17:43:07.614-04:00State of Mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6ih8LNQylIcBQvV4fIv0fN9Uaua9pbfxMOOpXHKDSEnkatYnP1ExhKC-derNPS5jC0u6BXUWH_DwmRfkeJ0Dgb3Lf3FAlFvFbXHEWwoOgSS_JSkZl4Efb_yCgzySFQUujsbNVrxzVihp/s1600/new+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6ih8LNQylIcBQvV4fIv0fN9Uaua9pbfxMOOpXHKDSEnkatYnP1ExhKC-derNPS5jC0u6BXUWH_DwmRfkeJ0Dgb3Lf3FAlFvFbXHEWwoOgSS_JSkZl4Efb_yCgzySFQUujsbNVrxzVihp/s320/new+029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Neither of them knew what it would come to,</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>but in the end, happiness was just their misconception.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Most people want to believe in something bigger then themselves. When it comes down to it, they love the idea of loving. </div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-24178541780621030422010-03-22T19:55:00.004-04:002010-03-22T21:03:42.724-04:00Drifter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjak8Liwvxj5xNEVGwDpEBD-t3j2BdHS9nmwL5H8gsrEkYndHmJcBLL_2VoyYptmBrCig7A__mwSXGE23aB_lL0wbWGLEfuGX67rb1DEvCze5V3UgUffuw1nkONe2nIrsmIkw47mwYd4LN5/s1600-h/Homeless+-+Copy+%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjak8Liwvxj5xNEVGwDpEBD-t3j2BdHS9nmwL5H8gsrEkYndHmJcBLL_2VoyYptmBrCig7A__mwSXGE23aB_lL0wbWGLEfuGX67rb1DEvCze5V3UgUffuw1nkONe2nIrsmIkw47mwYd4LN5/s320/Homeless+-+Copy+%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451613124571592482" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">He stopped us, wanting only pocket change.<br />Of course we paid him.<br />How much more harm could he have done to himself?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>We are the choices we make.<br /></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-8350526266976127632010-02-18T16:25:00.003-05:002010-02-18T17:22:11.658-05:00Heads or Tails?<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0oVsYEpCMjjVZtmKCN9RBULa9xtraGX0dgthNvNyZvfzSataMcRNGkR6tucWqgDSLFBRGPXGswOaWRc_DDPImu2p63SeSjci7jpanjKUl7R8y8j0TVTOcC0pEVVnQqrAm4HIkA-vDHN99/s1600-h/New+001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0oVsYEpCMjjVZtmKCN9RBULa9xtraGX0dgthNvNyZvfzSataMcRNGkR6tucWqgDSLFBRGPXGswOaWRc_DDPImu2p63SeSjci7jpanjKUl7R8y8j0TVTOcC0pEVVnQqrAm4HIkA-vDHN99/s320/New+001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439707217873673618" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I never want to make<br />anymore decisions.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>Letting a coin decide our fate is <span>venturesome</span>. Every choice we make sculpts us. What decisions have you made that changed who you are or what you are?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-48861177642549775702010-02-14T15:11:00.003-05:002010-02-14T15:23:45.201-05:00Repercussions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZHbOmw1cWlvjkR7ICx9sqGxF1Eq2FkyNmjwFsohUN6BCMKjLBsO7NgvoEy-_NnftjyZAinVM-2qKZq2DxGLgSSVWeNunAaYrXF2VkGzUFsQJAAhl6K65OIVNYKfuFBEcptgMhzo3z2Ts/s1600-h/Wine+Bottles.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZHbOmw1cWlvjkR7ICx9sqGxF1Eq2FkyNmjwFsohUN6BCMKjLBsO7NgvoEy-_NnftjyZAinVM-2qKZq2DxGLgSSVWeNunAaYrXF2VkGzUFsQJAAhl6K65OIVNYKfuFBEcptgMhzo3z2Ts/s320/Wine+Bottles.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438195805217999522" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I just sat and watched<br />as you slowly destroyed your life.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>People don't understand that their addictions have repercussions on their loved ones. When they're gone, who will teach the younger generations right from wrong?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-8617598296587613612010-02-12T13:14:00.003-05:002010-02-13T17:21:24.713-05:00Enemies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KhKYgVTvYJqhR8EHypHkB6nIcYV158wskKoYYXsRn2nmx7AuhLGBEITewWf9iDvUNVrb0Zw7KEMmDzkqtW6ewGxe1Srxq3iqoQhJq-P3XutOG1JX6qxXyPsIqb12KWgc9QXO-de1D4pc/s1600-h/Febuary+014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KhKYgVTvYJqhR8EHypHkB6nIcYV158wskKoYYXsRn2nmx7AuhLGBEITewWf9iDvUNVrb0Zw7KEMmDzkqtW6ewGxe1Srxq3iqoQhJq-P3XutOG1JX6qxXyPsIqb12KWgc9QXO-de1D4pc/s320/Febuary+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437424757630881650" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">They sought to find friends out of foes;<br />and turn enemies into loved ones.<br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>Too many people go through life while holding grudges from their past. Life is far too short to take revenge on everyone who deserves it.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-83594561235071957732010-01-21T19:04:00.002-05:002010-01-21T19:22:57.988-05:00Lost Time<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuHr-0vyflOE_cE6Jttp_k1_45KRViiZPfj9_grGG0DpN0Zkl_LHLrXGTPJE-pz354Z3gl7er9q4ZK2mfuUYoe2cs_KGV-uml523hJmdF27jCyW9NF5BIwQvRjLlSdiVhOVbSPotKyhyphenhyphenZ/s1600-h/Broken+Watch.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuHr-0vyflOE_cE6Jttp_k1_45KRViiZPfj9_grGG0DpN0Zkl_LHLrXGTPJE-pz354Z3gl7er9q4ZK2mfuUYoe2cs_KGV-uml523hJmdF27jCyW9NF5BIwQvRjLlSdiVhOVbSPotKyhyphenhyphenZ/s320/Broken+Watch.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429349723698475538" border="0" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">He broke his clock, never to be late again.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>Time always goes so fast there isn'<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>t really a reason to document it. Whether you were late or on time to some meeting 15 years ago, how is that effecting you today? Has your life changed from missing school in 3rd grade or forgetting to pick up your daughter at softball practice?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-5137333909902812912009-12-23T00:47:00.004-05:002009-12-23T01:12:29.016-05:00Please, Come in<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu26BR7OfqFeCkJ9mUVDFrukoKqEOdl8qJFaPn6ozr5iQ4csC-2U8GDe6kL5wLgy_edFS7ANGYt9TD05Or6CJLeGOJde0d1jiYMflCjLt0fNTSm-0IEozkPihlHKWT0_vCfpZUvalThv4y/s1600-h/Open+Gate.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu26BR7OfqFeCkJ9mUVDFrukoKqEOdl8qJFaPn6ozr5iQ4csC-2U8GDe6kL5wLgy_edFS7ANGYt9TD05Or6CJLeGOJde0d1jiYMflCjLt0fNTSm-0IEozkPihlHKWT0_vCfpZUvalThv4y/s320/Open+Gate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418306568676099970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Please, come in.<br />I promise you will never leave.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I hear to much of convoluted relationships where neither of them leave because they have worked to hard to try and perfect it. Overlooking is sometimes easier than complete disbandment.<br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-27726793397450550152009-11-23T15:44:00.002-05:002009-11-23T19:24:25.590-05:00Taking Leave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDG8QkX2MWGNTtcUQHmUQXpOqCd1gnZepe0K_EB64gPNeAN1qPow95MsOSmI6BWGBKygcPPUVgAy-t-uqfkQp9_S6rvG7aufIoxb3p736mEB11vK2aJlPeI3Ju2_-qRV5nWaeOP4uOMm_/s1600/ArtofPoet+038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDG8QkX2MWGNTtcUQHmUQXpOqCd1gnZepe0K_EB64gPNeAN1qPow95MsOSmI6BWGBKygcPPUVgAy-t-uqfkQp9_S6rvG7aufIoxb3p736mEB11vK2aJlPeI3Ju2_-qRV5nWaeOP4uOMm_/s320/ArtofPoet+038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407403162120988738" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The cold silent morning would come ever to quickly.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It still amazes me how people deal with taking their leave. By feeling inferior to death, the only humanly possible thing we can do is to take it into our own hands.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-32844267484675935642009-09-13T02:34:00.003-04:002009-09-13T02:58:14.289-04:00Commitments<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbArSaLZRv2dWAM7KWcPr-uk1CjtteSQ037b-JUK8yxikgNvCUxapwsMn4NYr7-_O7HoGO2U63pqT7qcfpAOAlpAyAyXWIO4WtgOcDVOzwR1Ov4ft4Sfboe0TtgueJSV4omRoWt7p9ZP5b/s1600-h/Lost+Ring.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbArSaLZRv2dWAM7KWcPr-uk1CjtteSQ037b-JUK8yxikgNvCUxapwsMn4NYr7-_O7HoGO2U63pqT7qcfpAOAlpAyAyXWIO4WtgOcDVOzwR1Ov4ft4Sfboe0TtgueJSV4omRoWt7p9ZP5b/s320/Lost+Ring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380837299078734130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> I forced myself to lose your ring,<br />I never want to be reminded of you.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Some commitments you'll take on head first because you feel you want it, but the minute it becomes impossible to fulfill, you're glad to have left it.<br /></div></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-4457267829468144292009-09-13T01:33:00.003-04:002009-09-13T02:02:21.402-04:00I'll Stop Tomorrow<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiQqvuahL7yJPYNn2KZnIgKwOOvJI2Wu15PjVprPhXEDmw6HCm90Kx6OtotaC16Zev6wtupRRLol3xLBRTdazjp4b77RW6KT4-8pNnDM9JKUsAQx5sEIDgEkMVWJbwcu2A8tdCeu-GJiz/s1600-h/Cutting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiQqvuahL7yJPYNn2KZnIgKwOOvJI2Wu15PjVprPhXEDmw6HCm90Kx6OtotaC16Zev6wtupRRLol3xLBRTdazjp4b77RW6KT4-8pNnDM9JKUsAQx5sEIDgEkMVWJbwcu2A8tdCeu-GJiz/s320/Cutting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380822276157608674" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What's one more day?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">The first step to healing, is realizing how much harm you're doing. Whether it's a serious problem or just a bad habit, one day can change a life.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-91648508003475138122009-09-10T21:36:00.002-04:002009-09-10T21:47:28.297-04:00Invisible Ink<div style="text-align: right;"><a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEFeyq5M1eTV8dbQF5aX36dwW2H6gEsFyM8sss6stQxpJhxkJ866jVHQcRcRO08L6btV-u3YZ4ynuwJDyP4ugO5490mhODpmFCNkxAcWJGKq8iyEDt5_3D9ePMbYQhRbr2chyWksgqjeY/s1600-h/Invisible+Ink+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEFeyq5M1eTV8dbQF5aX36dwW2H6gEsFyM8sss6stQxpJhxkJ866jVHQcRcRO08L6btV-u3YZ4ynuwJDyP4ugO5490mhODpmFCNkxAcWJGKq8iyEDt5_3D9ePMbYQhRbr2chyWksgqjeY/s320/Invisible+Ink+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380018070074601282" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I only write without ink because I don't like to make mistakes.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span>So what if you're wrong? Chances are, you'll get something out of your mistake. Who knows maybe next wrong answer you say, could help you discover new a way of thinking.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-70713558023343263282009-08-24T22:47:00.004-04:002009-08-24T23:04:42.511-04:00Finally Completed<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL76T1BegMUmpJLvshHoqHpO_Z6UjPCm2UUYRRay2ryoZA21_Pb-voM3LRTGFwLmlXUZijYKhCCIJ0v_go0Z6FFfwZ6HiAO0wF7lRx9Kw3hUzY76uqWxcpxVlUBKPZz0SI69FXhxcIsl2F/s1600-h/Stool+Project.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL76T1BegMUmpJLvshHoqHpO_Z6UjPCm2UUYRRay2ryoZA21_Pb-voM3LRTGFwLmlXUZijYKhCCIJ0v_go0Z6FFfwZ6HiAO0wF7lRx9Kw3hUzY76uqWxcpxVlUBKPZz0SI69FXhxcIsl2F/s320/Stool+Project.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373729928642463554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">So what if it took all night? It was worth it.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Do you even finish have the things you start. You'd be amazed at how good it feels to see your completed work in action.<br /></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-6288522386051657402009-08-18T22:10:00.003-04:002009-08-18T22:22:48.066-04:00Adulthood<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqyR6fdJJOABx-7lmz0cwe32bZKenUDzyT3RDTHDXucyTUSDc8y3HPGUccpKgY5Ex8K_2AEwNY1_81-Qmtc17rVlBwpgjK6-NsezWz7Ghs9O6xMEDFw_5iV6ACJ4OrJWaXylQX8sny39y/s1600-h/Graduation+Day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqyR6fdJJOABx-7lmz0cwe32bZKenUDzyT3RDTHDXucyTUSDc8y3HPGUccpKgY5Ex8K_2AEwNY1_81-Qmtc17rVlBwpgjK6-NsezWz7Ghs9O6xMEDFw_5iV6ACJ4OrJWaXylQX8sny39y/s320/Graduation+Day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371491773855427890" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is supposed to be the greatest day of our lives? </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I never got the point of big ceremonies for graduations. They say it's a passageway into adulthood, but whatever happened to fighting a tiger?<br /></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-78751128999960678212009-07-16T01:02:00.003-04:002009-11-23T19:31:12.626-05:00Picture Frame<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKi5qxIq6qVztjpg3-KNLBfsBN3Yl3pQHJn5CNici90RGIpocQMO1s47vmqVT0pKZh3jMAKm_hJIa8e4p6kZ8vRB_1pr6SN5m5I1j6qiud13-pxpOr_LOeTbr8KPwUaL8vG8Ib42V9JQ6/s1600-h/Picure+Frame.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKi5qxIq6qVztjpg3-KNLBfsBN3Yl3pQHJn5CNici90RGIpocQMO1s47vmqVT0pKZh3jMAKm_hJIa8e4p6kZ8vRB_1pr6SN5m5I1j6qiud13-pxpOr_LOeTbr8KPwUaL8vG8Ib42V9JQ6/s320/Picure+Frame.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358919051557128754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">He</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> was our</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> world, our savior. He was genuine, magnificent, determined. But you didn't know him. To you, he might as well just be another blank frame on the wall.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Have you ever been to a museum? What do you remember the most? I've always liked the countless photos they have on display. Those set individuals, did much more then what was written about them in the history books. Next time you see a portrait, keep in mind that they meant the world to someone, whether you knew them or not.<br /></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-603497762892214998.post-16070575201230153122009-07-15T09:02:00.004-04:002009-07-16T01:26:10.303-04:00Lifestyle<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnHEiybqEeuCHIP0DqV9t0DKPxoFjQ-mDwk7D1afjpxbs0mOj3KbMhqAofMUhgoWWn4NhT4zZtU9J2hUaFCK_fk0Qz9QW1wWEc6hGYENi2aVDwbTRQcs0YqWtUYIqVEdr2lPUT_J_sexk0/s1600-h/Thread+Box.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnHEiybqEeuCHIP0DqV9t0DKPxoFjQ-mDwk7D1afjpxbs0mOj3KbMhqAofMUhgoWWn4NhT4zZtU9J2hUaFCK_fk0Qz9QW1wWEc6hGYENi2aVDwbTRQcs0YqWtUYIqVEdr2lPUT_J_sexk0/s320/Thread+Box.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358671630835492738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">They didn't care about the job, they only wanted the lifestyle.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Do you even like your job? Or are you just in it for the perks it brings? Just because you are relatively good at what you do, doesn't mean you can't look for a better career.<br /></div></div>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07739747192817080898noreply@blogger.com0