The things I don't talk about.

Every time I go to the Border Patrol station in Douglas I hear or see something that makes me physically ill. I always forget that I will feel this way. I always feel this way.

I really like the way Bryce writes. I'm copying his style right now.

I am proud of every single one of my friends.

I attend a Catholic church. I don't believe that the bread is really Jesus' body, but I still love to kneel every Sunday.

I would rather be good than happy. But I'd rather be happy and good.

I go back and forth between being proud of my creativity and thinking I am not a very creative person.

I don't want to post this.

I'm going to post it anyway.

Sometimes I think that I am not very good at my job.

Sometimes I think that I am awesome at my job.

I never want to be defined by my job.

I'm going to be in Colorado in November. I am very excited.

Deanna is going to visit me. Sometimes when people say things to me I am glad that she doesn't know how to speak Spanish.

She reads this blog.

I really like to cook. I never knew that before this year.

I am very good friends with a man who works for Raytheon making missiles. I read two publications put out by Focus on the Family. I drink Coca-Cola when I am in Mexico. I don't like missiles, Dobson's theology, or corporate soda.

I was never taught to use grammar and that makes me self-conscious when I write.

I have never gotten in the habit of proof-reading my writing.

A lack of grammar skills and an aversion to proof-reading is not a promising combination.

I just got a phone call from a man who needs diapers and baby formula.

I don't give money out to people because I don't want them to use it for drugs.

I am going to the store right now to buy the diapers.

My phone number is changing. I'll call you when I know what it is.