Its almost 2am and I am still awake. I just finished straightening my room and making a list of things I need to accomplish tomorrow. (I?m a list maker, I can?t help myself, its how I sort out my thoughts.) I hate staying up so late, but I get so much done at night. Everyone is asleep and I have nothing shiny or noisy to distract me. I am starting to wind down and go to sleep. This is my favorite time of the day. It is the time I am in my room. I love my room. It is the farthest place in the house that you can go at any point to be away from everyone and have silence. It is the place where I dream, blog, spend time with God, fuss over my hair, take amazing naps, read, and just be myself. It is right off the kitchen and almost seems like a nook of sorts. I like it and treasure the times I spend in there. I love waking up to my parents (when they are off duty) in the kitchen making breakfast and lovingly flirting. I love that my mom from her room can watch me make faces in the mirror, and then when I realize I am caught get embarrassed and flustered. I love that my room is the coldest in the house, and at night I have to snuggle deep under the covers because I am freezing and my mother likes to think she is an Eskimo so I cannot complain. I love my big cozy bed that my brother and I sit on and watch movies like Eragon, which was last nights picture. I love all the pictures on my wall that my dad oh so patiently hung again and again until my mom and I found the ?perfect spot? on the wall where it is now hanging. I guess I love my room not because of the things, but because of the memories that were made in it. It reminds me of the blessings God has showered me with.
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