​Today is a windy, slightly rainy, but none the less lovely, Saturday afternoon. I’m sure my excessive use of dashes and comas is hell for any English major, but it feels right to me. My apologies if it makes anyone cringe to read my messy writing. I have always known that I could improve on the technical side of my writing, maybe that is something I could look into while I practice social distancing. Or maybe my poor grammar is endearing? I hope. I am lounging around my little apartment in Moscow. I forced myself to put on makeup and style my hair today, to counteract the fact that I am in sweats and my bathrobe. Balance! Spending more time at home has led me to restlessly stare into my closet. Every time I walk into my room, I think about how this quarantine time could be such an amazing opportunity to organize. It takes very genuine effort on my part to keep my life organized. Organization has never been a strength for me, but I always feel less anxious when I simplify. I don’t quite understand how feng shui works but I definitely feel shifts in my energy when there is too much clutter in my living and workspace. My creativity and contentment feel blocked with clutter. Staying home could be a really useful time to rid myself of the useless shit I have accumulated, and maybe I will even take down the rest of the Christmas decorations in my living room! Does it make me an awful person that I have decorations celebrating Jesus’s birthday still up in March? Or perhaps it makes me a devoted Christian? Probably just an awful person, but that is the thing about perspective- it just depends how you frame it. Perspective is a great thing. I have been trying to control my frame of mind while I self-isolate, looking at this time to get shit done. I have been writing every day. I asked my mom for a good topic to blog about, and she sent me a whole damn list (hats off to Jillian). One thing on the lengthy list was “The Gods eye blanket”. Anyone reading this has no clue what I am talking about. UNLESS you are my mother or brother. The two people involved in this on-going ball game. Let me start with the origin of the gods eye blanket. When I was 17 my mom and I went to the Oregon Coast to take a few senior pics, but mostly just to spend time together. The trip was sweet and relaxing. We stayed at a little inn that was ran by an older gentleman, who woke up early every morning of our stay to pick up fresh pastries from the bakery in town. The inn was a short five-minute walk from the beach, and we could hear the waves from our room when we would leave the window cracked at night. One of the most heavenly sounds. Waves rolling into the shore. I have always felt a wholeness when I am near the ocean, and if there were ever a time genetics were at play, I could almost guarantee it was passed down from my mother. We love the ocean accompanied with early morning coffee, and late night bon fires. I can almost smell the aroma as I type. LOVELY. Staring into the vastness of the ocean with its deep blue’s makes me feel whole. The Oregon coast has always been my favorite place to fill my cup. Manzanita Oregon is my heaven on earth, with its beach hugged by the rocky cliffs. On this trip my mom and I were spending our nights by a bonfire on the beach. We drove into town one of the days to pick up essentials for the ocean (cheese and wine) and stumbled across a shop that had everything we would need. In the shop was a large black fleece blanket that had native American designs across it, and according to the sign it was called the gods eye blanket. We snagged it to help keep warm against the windy coastal nights, when we stayed out late by the fire. It was warm, beautiful, and a special reminder of our trip. My mom brought it home to spread across a bed in one of the guest rooms. The blanket was just my brothers style. Dillon has always had a very PNW style to him. For anyone who doesn’t know my brother Dillon, this is how I would describe him to you; Dillon is a tall, lanky creature with dark brown hair and mischief in his eyes. He is the worse liar I have ever met, and his honesty is like an aura around him. He looks like the kind of early 20s man you would find in Portland or Seattle because he wears flannels and cool sneakers. Dillon’s style is true to his nature- chill and fun. When he saw the blanket, he wanted it. My mom and I both told him in no uncertain terms- NO. This blanket was a fun little accessory to a trip that was precious! Dillon had other options! If he really wanted to steal a blanket for his new apartment, I would have gladly lent him my old-ratty orange and black (our high schools colors) tied together fleece blanket. Or even the old denim jeans quilt (yes- it’s as funky as it sounds) that someone’s grandmother made for us when we were in junior high. He could have had one of those! But he insisted that he needed the gods eye blanket. So, the ball game began. Back and forth we would steal the gods eye. Eventually it just ended up at Dillon’s apartment, where I suppose it must have truly belonged. Now when I think about it, I like to think that we brought the special blanket back home to its true owner, which turned out to be Dillon. I would occasionally see the blanket when I would visit him, and one night it was thrown across me when I crashed on Dillon’s couch. It is rightfully his now, because he fought long and hard for the gods eye. As I was writing this blog I began to wonder, does he still have it? I hadn’t seen it in a while, and perhaps he grew tired of it. I just texted him “Do you still have the gods eye” and within a minute he sent back a picture of himself on his couch with the blanket draped over the back. The text said “I don’t know what you’re talking about”. Smirking. Knowing damn well what I was talking about. It’s his now. My mom and I talk about it every so often, reminiscing on our trip, and what a little thief Dillon is. Ok, my mom never called her son a thief. But as the sister, ya he’s a fucking thief. But I love him, so I guess he can keep it... for now.  
-Libby

The world has been so heavy lately. I find myself trying to balance my awareness with covid-19, and not obsessively checking my phone for updates on the virus. I feel like this year  has been so incredibly difficult with events that have taken place in my personal life, to the bigger impact the world has been suffering with. So much division and pain, and not enough loving each other. I try not to make my blog political- so I won’t. Just a simple thought- be the love people need.
No smooth transition here, but onto other news!
I turn 24 next month and I have been spending the last few weeks reflecting and journaling about this past year. There has been a lot of heart ache, things that I am not ready to write about. But I think it is important to be honest. Life is messy, and there is comfort when we are honest with ourselves and others. The honesty I am able to write about is just how fucking hard this year has been. And I think more importantly I wanted to share this with my readers; it gets better. Such a simple phrase, one that times I was livid to hear. “it gets better”. The pain doesn’t feel like it will ever ease from your heart, but slowly, in little ways it does. That is healing. I have learned the distinct feeling of healing this year. Less anger and sadness, and more wholeness in my heart. I just think that is the honesty I am able to give anyone who is hurting. IT GETS BETTER. Everyone deserves to heal, and I am ready for this next year of good things.
23 has been the year of so many things for me. The year I got bangs (oh you guys didn’t already know? I write about them so often you would think they are my most redeeming personality trait). This was the year that I decided to take a step back from college to refocus on my goals. A HEALTHY CHOICE! 23 was the year that I finally decided I was responsible enough to have all white bedding. Which means yes! I did stop eating and drinking in bed. Quite adulty of me, I know. I re-devoted myself to my writing, which is a choice I hope to make over and over again throughout my life as needed. Starting over is something I have practiced so many times during age 23. This was a year of re-devotion. I also found a deep connection to the song “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield, which is hilarious because I also felt a deep connection to that song when I was 13. Ten-year difference and I still love a good melodramatic song. I hope when I am 33 I still find the same love for the song. I listen to it in my car when I need a little pick me up. I have a whole playlist of songs that get my heart happy. In my phone the playlist title is “happy-glowing music”, and I am firm believer that everyone needs one of those playlists that has all the songs that uplift your soul. This year, some of the songs that made it into my playlist are:
What the World Needs Now Is Love by Andra Day
Respect by Aretha Franklin
I Love a Rainy Night by Eddie Rabbit
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
Nights by Frank Ocean
Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls
Dancing in the Moonlight by King Harvest 
Sunday Morning by Maroon 5
You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon
Snow by Red Hot Chili Peppers 
Santeria by Sublime 
Worn Out by Ziggy Alberts
AND SO MANY MORE but I don’t want to list my entire song list for sake of not boring my readers, and because I like to keep a mystery about me- ya know? (jokes) But I do think that the songs that I listed have been the playlist to 23. I blasted those songs in my car whenever I needed to feel better. Music helps with healing! So do long car rides where you cry/laugh/scream the lyrics with your whole heart. That is just one of the facts of life. Everyone needs time in their car to listen to their happy-glowing playlist. If anyone is interested in the rest of my playlist- reach out to me in the comments, or on social media and I can get you a copy of that bad boy! It is chock full of happiness. Or so I think. Also, with everyone needing to practice social distancing while we quarantine to help slow the spread of the coronavirus, enjoy art! Music, podcasts, poetry, movies, etc! All the good things to help you feel less isolated. I have been watching the show Fleabag and it is hilarious. I highly recommend it to anyone with a dry sense of humor. It is full of laughs. 
I hope everyone stays healthy and feels the love that is out there in the world!
-Libbs

The first time I read, and loved a Mary Oliver poem was when I was around 15 years old. The poem was short yet, provoked a lovely feeling in my soul. Good poetry has always had the ability to give me chills. The poem that struck me at 15 years old was "Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable". It is still beautiful to me as I have grown older and wiser to the world. I will occasionally scroll through Pinterest to read poetry and I always find myself reading and rereading Mary Oliver. I get her words. When my Nan passed away my mother's cousin sent her a Mary Oliver poem in the mail. She read it out loud to me, and we both cried. It is one piece of writing that has stuck with me and spoke to my grief every time I read it. The poem is "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver. Every time I have felt unmeasurable loss I read that poem. It feels so deeply personal to me. I read it again today and felt like sharing it with anyone who needs it. That is the power of good poetry- connection. -Libby