You don't want to know, and you don't need to read.

I prefer spelling the word mustache like so: moustache. Much better.

I love the word "cusp." It just feels so right.

I like wet dog smell. [Yes, I really do. I'm not lying in any way.]

I still like to find really smooth rocks like I did as a kid. My brother brought home rocks smoothed from the ocean after his mission, and I loved them so much, I vowed to find my own ocean-smoothed rocks. I still need to do that.

My mom thinks I found a brick once when I was young and thought it was a rock. Mom, I knew it wasn't a rock. That doesn't mean I couldn't bring it home. I also used to bring home screws from all the construction sites around because they were brass with rainbow colored shine [and I loved that].

I love collecting seashells. I brought my husband a seashell back both times I visited the ocean while we were dating: one from the Atlantic, one from the Pacific. He still has them.

I love the canvas-soaked smell of rain.

I had a dream last night that I had a pet dog and a cat, and both of them died. Also, a baby lion kept coming into the house, and somehow that factored into my pets dying. It was a very traumatic dream and I couldn't wait to finally wake up this morning.

I often feel as though I'm really weird. Or that nobody gets my jokes. My housband does, but I think that's a requirement. I think I have a weird sense of humor. I'm ok with that... because why would I change for everyone else?

I am currently expecting a new lens in the mail. It has taken 12 days to get here. If I have to wait any longer, I'm going to punch dance my frustrations out.

I have felt really quietly frustrated lately. I do not know exactly why. Life is weird that way. Perhaps it's the same old frustration. How long can the same things remain frustrating until they go away? Do they ever just go away?

And why do I constantly worry that everything good will go bad?  Things--life--is so good.  So good to me, all the time.  I'm afraid I'm ruining it by worrying that it will expire, like an old jug of milk.  I worry too much.  I am sick of worrying.

I got this email from the Universe yesterday [yes, I get emails from the Universe on Monday, Wednesday and Friday], and it said:

"A flower doesn't turn toward the sun because it needs to, but because it wants to, and so the process is effortless and joyful.
All things considered, Ashley, what do you WANT?"

I thought about it for a minute. Well, Universe, I have no idea.

Except I do. I want to ditch my real life and move to the beach with you-know-who. [That would be my husband.]  [Just so you know.]