Spring

Well, it may not be spring most places, but it's spring here. Showers, and flowers, and all those lovely things. The temperature, as always, is fluctuating by about twenty degrees depending on whether there's a cloud on or not. The clouds can't make up their minds either and so the morning has gone between hard rain and just enough mist to be annoying. It's one of those days.

I'm still living at home for the simple reason that, without a bachelor's degree or work experience, I can't earn enough to pay rent and go to school at the same time. (I should know. I tried.) It's not fair, but there you are. One of the trade-offs of living at home is that there are very few subjects on which my mother and I agree: not on priorities, not on what constitutes "staying out late", not on my clothing. Especially not on my clothing. We've had these discussions so many times that it just takes one look for me to know what she would say to me if she weren't tired of saying it. In this case - why is that crazy child of mine wearing a summer dress and nice jewelry with an Aran sweater, thick stockings, and big, ugly boots? Doesn't she know that none of that matches?

My excuse is that I'm dressing for the weather. Light dress and heavy sweater so I can adjust between 50 and 70 degrees at a moment's notice. Boots and thick socks to keep my feet dry. Delicate jewelry because I've got to wear it somewhere, haven't I? I like to look pretty even when I don't have a reason, and it doesn't necessarily have to match. God made flowers to grow in mud. That's good enough for me.

--Veronica--