fuggetaboutit

Flipping through Inspiration by Tricia Guild right now, which means that my thoughts basically equate to Twonkies masquerading as Twinkies, glorified everydayness. Mason jars are lamps of fireflies to remind me of all the times I walk into Anthropologie and fall for everything, despite that lurking sensation that I could find it all at Goodwill; if I only took the time to sift through endless heaps of skorts and VCRs.
Tricia, your book might look pretty hip, but I’d rather make lists and explore old photo albums in mama’s living room while she’s out of town than lie to myself about how I’ll paint porcelain and appreciate the colors of India and 1950s Paris. I love that one of her from college, when she had long hair and sassy boots that she would wear tomorrow if she had them.