Mackenzie Standing

I love being home. There's something about Wenatchee that is so inexplicably Wenatchee. Maybe it's the years I've spent, maybe it's the memories I've formed, maybe it's the people that plant their lives deep here and become as great a part of the landscape in my mind as the Columbia River and Saddlerock--probably, it's a combination of all three--but there is something here that makes me never want to leave. I come home and feel like I'm wrapped in a warm brown hug that smells of sagebrush and tastes like Stemilt apples and Caffe Mela coffee and looks a whole lot like love. It's in an attempt to counteract tonight's warm gushy feelings, though, that my pessimistic head lets other emotions creep in: Dread. Doubt. Sadness. I don't want to leave; I never do. I'm 36 hours from having to say goodbye and yet my heart is already protesting the pain; I'm only in Bozeman again for two weeks and yet somehow that seems like forever. Maybe it w...

First of all, let it be known that I never want this blog to just be a venting space, because my life is by no means terrible. In fact, it's been pretty awesome lately-- so much so that in writing this post, I'm interrupting another draft about how much I love my friends and all they've been teaching me. However, sometimes life just seems a little more complicated, and a little more overwhelming, and I just need space to think. I'm an introverted internal processor, but sometimes even I can't figure out what I'm thinking. Tonight is one of those nights where my head is wrapped up in tangled messes of mushy spaghetti and I'm having a hard time grasping onto just one noodle. Sigh. And so here, my friends, is my attempt to make something organized out of chaos--or pasta. The noodles that I know: 1. My emotions and I have been on a joyride this last week. Sometimes we were up, sometimes we were down, sometimes we took very random and unexpected turns that res...