The simple word "emotional" describes me so well lately. I watched a full episode of A Baby Story (hey now, don't judge) yesterday and was practically hysterically crying when the (still young) older brothers were telling their new baby brother "You now have my heart!" in their adorable and innocent 6 year old voices.
If only everyone I knew could be as honest as a 6 year old.
Life has too many options. It reminds me of Coldstone when I stand in line with a very vague idea of what I'd like to feast on. I think I have it all figured out, but once the outwardly flamboyant worker asks me what special treats I'd like to toss into my Cake Batter ice cream, I lose it. I am at a loss for words and all of the clear jars filled to the brim with unknown substances make me entirely antsy. I always panic and include the same old, same old ingredients of white chocolate chips, twix bar and caramel. I want to go wild. I vow to add some gummy bears of sprinkles or maybe fresh fruit.
My metaphors are ridiculously ambiguous. Maybe I should take my own advice and be as honest as a 6 year old?
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