Not your normal post.

Once again, life has gotten in the way of this blog. I wrote something the other day, not about fashion, but just something random. I thought I would post it.
xx-R

Dear whomever I let read this,

So many people ask me why I write, and I could never answer them.  Well now I can.

A writer is supposed to be a tortured soul—the man who lost it all. When I sit down to write, I always think this. My moments, my memories, my days and seconds leading up to where I am today have left me untouched, unscarred, and unmemorable.  There is not a single moment of my personal life that I can think of that holds enough importance that it needs written out. No memory too horrible it needs its own story. I am a privileged, white middle class, American girl. My life did not shape me to become a writer, yet here I am.  I sit and I write, and I erase, and I write again.  I pour myself into paper after paper hoping something meaningful will fill the pages. This however, has not been the case. It’s not that I’m not filled with words and ideas I believe to have purpose, quite the opposite actually. I think words are filled with too much importance and I don’t want to mess them up.  

     Sometimes the words in my head are painful. It’s like this little part in the back of my head can’t breathe unless I get my string of thoughts turned into words and pushed out of my mind. It’s strange; being filled with words you are unable transfer onto paper. The words, the meanings, the moments, they are all in my head growing, yelling, and fighting to get out—to get onto paper. Most of the time I don’t act fast enough to get my thoughts turned into words and then the moment is lost. Those are my bad moments. Those are the moments when the commotion inside my head is louder than I can bear. I have no idea if this is normal or if I’m mentally unstable, but either way, it happens. I can get them anytime, anywhere, no matter what I’m doing. If you pay attention you can tell when I’m in this state, I get very silent and don’t act like the bubbly person everyone has come to know me as. I take the phrase “being in another world” to a new level.  The worst episodes are when I see or hear something particularly beautiful; maybe snow falling onto a quiet city or a cello piece that makes your mind wander. Moments when this world seems to be as beautiful as it could ever be are when my head wants to explode the most.

    That is why I’m a writer. I’m not a writer because I have a personal story to tell, I’m not a writer to share my pain with the world, nor am I a writer because my soul is tortured. I’m a writer for those moments. The moments that are so beautiful that my head can’t keep them as a memory for itself. I’m a writer to share the beauty left in the world, because every moment that makes your heart flutter is one to be remembered.

I write because I have to, it’s inside me.

R.

Perfect Pumpkin

  

Saturday I shopped at Easton Town Center, a huge shopping complex located in Columbus Ohio, and when I walked into Lush I couldn't help but purchase the "Sparkly Pumpkin Bubble Bar." If this little pumpkin can't get you in the fall mood, then I don't know what will. Your bright orange bath should put you in a fall state of mind.

Not only does it smell make you feel like you just walked into a pumpkin patch, but this little pumpkin moisturizes your skin more than you'd think. That's what I love about bubble bars, they make your skin feel super soft, like a babies.

Even though this glittery pumpkin can cause quite a mess in your bath, it's so worth it. And when you get out of the bath your skin isn't as glittery as you'd think, but the bottom of your bath is. So if you are super against glitter I wouldn't recommend this bar, but they have a million other ones in their  stores or on their website.

You can purchase your own pumpkin here: http://www.lushusa.com/Sparkly-Pumpkin/05399,en_US,pd.html#q=pumpkin&start=1

oh and here's the actual pumpkin I carved this week :) 

                              always- Rachel 

A New Start

Life got kind of crazy and I haven’t written on here for practically a year. 
   One day while I was admiring blogs and commenting on how cool it was that they were putting their work out there I realized I’d been neglecting my own blog. Even though I look back at posts and cringe at the amount of mistakes I made, I also look back and feel proud. Proud of what I’d accomplish my senior year of High School. I may have failed to write daily or post the greatest content in the world, but I produced something. I started a blog with my own work about something I was passionate about. I don’t know why I quit writing, because it made me happy and feel accomplished. Maybe it was the lack of support from my family and friends or the expectations to succeed academically my senior year, but for whatever the reason I'd forgotten why I started it in the first place. 
     I signed up to blogspot so I could have somewhere to express my opinions without the need of approval from my teachers and peers. I had a fashion column in the school magazine, but it had to be regulated so no one was offended. But on here I could openly express my thoughts and feelings without the fear of an F or an angry mob of tribal print, too tight crop trop, ugg wearing teenage girls. 

     From tutus paired with leather jackets in middle school to homemade dresses in High School I was always craving fashion more than the acceptance of others. Wearing what I wanted made me unique, but it also made me feel like an outcast. Even my own friends would sometimes comment negatively on my choice of clothing. This blog was supposed to be a place I could express myself via fashion and I left it to rot in cyber space. 
    Basically what I’m saying is, I’m back and better than ever. I can’t promise every post is going to be a work of art or even interesting, but it’s mine. And I’m excited for a new start.