A Letter To My Future Child: Slow Down

Dear Future Child,

You will watch a lot of movies growing up, and not just when I get too tired to fully supervise you (even though movies are a great alternate babysitter). And one of those movies will be Ferris Buehler’s Day Off. Not only will this movie teach you about being young and reckless, it will teach you about slowing down. As Ferris says while he constructs his master plan to get out of another mundane day of high school, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”


And if this isn’t the cold hard truth, I don’t know what is.

There will be days when you wish life would move faster. When the shower is cold and you spill your cereal and get stuck in traffic and stub your toe and breakup with a boyfriend and fail a test and miss an opportunity and cry yourself to sleep. Because that’s life. I can’t protect you from days like these, and every time they happen I’ll wish I could. However, every day is only 24 hours, the good and the bad.

And you’d be surprised how fast 24 hours can go when you aren’t expecting it.

My dear child, the main takeaway from this post is to slow down. If there’s one piece of advice I’d give myself, it’s this. Because I’ve been moving so fast, my entire first year of college is over in three weeks. I’ve been moving so fast that my second decade will be here in a few months, and that’s an important, meaningful age. I’ve been moving so fast, that sometimes I don’t even take the time to appreciate how beautiful life can be through a non-stressed lenses.

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I walk too fast, because I don’t want to be late. I eat too fast, mostly because I’m not as mindful as I should be. I shower too fast, so that I have enough time to dry my hair. I drive way too fast, and don’t have an actual excuse for this one other than a lack of patience.

I want you to slow down today when you go for walk, and enjoy the color of the flowers in our yard. Slow down when you eat lunch, and think about how wonderful the combination of rice and seaweed pairs together (if you end up eating as much sushi as I do, anyways). Slow down when you shower today, I promise our water bill will maintain the heat. And most importantly, never get into the habit of driving as fast as your mother. This one is non negotiable.

And you know what? If you have to skip a day or two of school to stop and look around every once in a while, I’ll call in and tell the office you have a fever. Life’s too short not to.

Yours truly,


Bronchitis, Bagels, and iBooks

I do my best to keep my posts uplifting and inspiring,  but sometimes it’s hard to stay positive when you’ve coughed for so long the headache pounds in your ears. My small ailments of last week are laughing at the fate of this week, and even though it is only Wednesday, I am exhausted.

College is about independence and self-discovery, and those are two wonderful and essential things. But, through being forced to be independent I have discovered that I hate going to the doctors without my mom. Especially one that I am unfamiliar with. In the past four days I have visited two clinics, and had to keep a list on my phone of my current prescription doses, symptoms, and past illnesses. I’ve had to pretend to be brave, and pretend to know what I was doing. And I had to do all of this while trying to simultaneously blow my nose, cough, and breathe.


One doctor said I had an upper-respiratory infection, the other said I had bronchitis. Both are complicated, and both suck, mostly because of my asthma and hatred of medicine. But in order to be independent and learn to take care of myself, I had to visit a pharmacy to buy steroids, antibiotics, nasal spray, decongestant pills, cough drops, and Vitamin C. I also have to remember to take the correct doses at the correct times and try not to feel dizzy or forget which pill is which. 

At this point, I am trying to remember where I’m going with this post, and which medicine I still have to take before bed. But from the title, I know what I wanted to share: The two things that have been getting me through this prolonged sickness are bagels and iBooks. And I can explain both without any confusion.

Because my body isn’t conditioned to taking conventional medicine in such high doses, I find myself both painfully hungry and equally nauseas. I have tried oatmeal, jello, honey, rice, but the food that has helped me the most are baby bagels. The bland, chewy, mini-bread has become a part of my daily diet, and I can shamelessly admit I’ve eaten four or five a day. This probably isn’t good in the long run, but I also won’t be sick for much longer (knock on wood).


The second thing that has gotten me through the long, restless nights of coughing and fitful tossing and turning is iBooks. Because I share a room, I can’t turn on a light to read books when I wake up every two hours to take medicine and can’t fall back asleep. I’ve been passing the long nights scrolling through novels on my phone, and am so thankful for modern technology like the online bookstore in the palm of my hand.

I guess I am thankful for modern medicine too, because without it I wouldn’t be able to get through the nausea, the insomnia, and the bronchitis that has struck me down. And most of all, I will be thankful once the pills start kicking in.

Trying my best,


Shades of Yellow

As ridiculously busy as I’ve been this week (and this whole last month of college for crying out loud), I’ve began to notice something peculiar, randomly, and possibly meaningless. But I don’t believe in coincidences, and my eyes have been drawn to every deep yellow color I come across. A mustard-y, buttery, honey, dandelion-y color, in hundreds of different shades and hues appeared before my daily routines.

I’ve spent the week trying to distract myself from the throbbing in my head and the raw irritation in my throat, so paying attention to the small things has been what really got me through. Because of this exasperating cold, I’ve been ingesting as much turmeric as possible (if you don’t know about this amazing supplement, educate yourself! https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/top-10-evidence-based-health-benefits-of-turmeric) And guess what color turmeric is when mixed into food or drink?

Now, this color isn’t bright, not a neon or a glowing, but rather a type of yellow that you want to curl around and take a nap in. The kind of yellow that feels like lotion soaking into dry and cracked skin on cold days. The type of yellow that tastes warm and soothing and reminds you that the seasons are changing, but each change is gradual.

I have such an issue with change. And yet it happens anyways.

C’est la vie; this too shall pass.

But this winter kicked my ass, and even though there is the occasional day of above 50 degrees, April is proving to be no exception. The Midwest sure likes to pull the heartstrings of my seasonal affective disorder, and the only change I’m looking for is one where the tulips bloom and the sun shines (an obsession with yellow has taken over my life).

2114bcdc07ccde8be742e8dca18ab6fb.jpgThey say to look at life through the rose-colored glasses in order to live an optimistic life, but I’m deciding to find a pair of mustard yellow glasses, because if I can’t find the sunshine then I’ll make it. Here’s to a better week full of warm hues and warm air.

Hopeful (and very under the weather),




A Letter To My Future Child: Finding Where You Belong

Dear Future Child,

I am writing to you from my college dorm in Kansas. I am not from here, but it feels like home. My other home, my childhood house and city is 200 miles away. Someday, I am hoping to move to Arizona, a warm, sunny place, where you might even be born.

I’m not sure where my true home is or if I know what it feels like, but I get glimpses here and there. Home isn’t a place, dear child. It’s a feeling. And I’m hoping that through my letters, my other writings, and my instructions to you as a mother (and a friend?) I can teach you where to capture that feeling.

As a child, you don’t get to choose where you live, how big your house is or who your neighbors are. I grew up aimlessly happy, and loved everything about my surroundings. I lived in the outskirts of a large city, the ideal location to be close enough to the buzz, but far enough to avoid the noise. I played in grassy fields and wooded areas with my brothers, my family grew flowers and vegetables, and we fell asleep listening to crickets, frogs, and owls.


Fishing in the cold and rain and knee-length jean shorts. (Notice how I refused to hold the nasty fishing line).

But as my primary childhood came to an end, I had to make a decision. There weren’t any upper level schools near our house, so I had to either go 15 minutes up the highway into the country or 15 minutes towards the heart of the city. Somehow, I don’t remember the choice being difficult, because maybe I was more easy going then.

I chose to stay in the country.

The school was in a town, a small one, and someday I’ll tell you more in depth about this kind of lifestyle. The rumors, the gossip, the drama, the drinking, the drugs, the abuse, all swept under the rug of the one road that runs through the middle of the town. Some people are raised to believe this way of life is how the world spins, despite being hidden behind fields of corn and beans. In fact, this is the common ideology for many, many families in the Midwest, and even America.

It took me four years to open my eyes to my potential future, and I quickly decided what I wanted couldn’t be achieved because of where I was, the habits I had formed, and who I had surrounded myself with. I left, honey, I left just as quickly as the realization was made.

As my teenage years came crashing over me, it was clear that I was missing something. This was the first time I questioned what in the heck I was doing here? Not in small town Nebraska, not even in the United States, but in the world. What was my purpose in life? Poor sixteen year-old me was confused and lost, trying to find home.


Daydreaming at 15 about a future here (Arizona).


I found condolences in my parents and family of course, but lost most of my friends who couldn’t see through the glasses I began to wear. These glasses showed me how terrible the world could be, and also how much potential lay on the other side of the country fields. I was led to believe that I was the only one who could save myself, and formed a personal escape mission called “college”.

Fortunately, I was detoxed from my previous adolescent years through a private education for my last two years of high school, and many doors and windows were open to aid my getaway. The thought of leaving my family (my mom and grandma?! How could I?) was horrific, but so was getting trapped in a mundane and monotonous lifestyle.  I knew I was set on finding a place far away and warm, so I narrowed my options down to Arizona and Texas. I visited beautiful campuses and toured regal areas full of sunny hallways and trails, each with bright and shiny writing programs, and yet I left each place surprisingly underwhelmed.

What was missing? I was transported back a few years to the emptiness, the unknown location I found myself seeking but not knowing its name. I was discouraged and began losing hope, and my dad persuaded me to tour a school in Kansas, even though the thought of staying in the Midwest made me want to gag.

And from here, you can guess what happens next in the story. Our car pulled onto campus, and knew before even stepping out of the vehicle, before touring the campus, before I even looked in to the English programs, I knew that I was home. I didn’t tell anyone about this conclusion for a month, because I was embarrassed. I wasn’t about to give up my dream of an extravagant lifestyle on the outskirts of the country.

Overlooking the football field on my campus

I kept looking for a sign, something to tell me which direction to follow. And every night that I lay awake staring at the ceiling, the feeling in my chest returned when I thought of the buildings and the dorms and the sidewalks teeming with young life.

I am writing to you from a place that is in the middle of the Midwest, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted for this time in my life. I have found where I belong, for now at least, and my only hope for you is that you can experience the same feeling of belonging.

I will do whatever it takes to show you the way, always.



My Ultimate Bookshelf

I know, I know, I just got done talking about how much I love aimlessly wandering through libraries and accidentally knocking over books, but I can’t stop thinking about them. Books to a writer is like a triple-layer chocolate cream cake to a sugar addict. Writers are essentially just book addicts.

Believe it or not, I only recently sat down to create a “Goodreads” account (I didn’t even realize my own book was in their collection), and have become infatuated all over again with reading as much as humanly possible. If you are a fellow reader, you can follow me at: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/78341715-madeleine-rheinheimer

And I thought it’d be appropriate for me to share my go-to novels, essays, stories and the OCCASIONAL e-book (it’s not a sin, okay? I know the clashing sides who claim that a true book must be bound with pages, but reading on the bus to class is much easier on my phone.)

Another thing I must admit to… I don’t read series. I don’t read popular series is what I mean. Yes, that includes “Twilight”, “Harry Potter”, “The Hunger Games”, “City of Bones”, “Divergent”, “Maze Runner”, etc etc etc. I have received much criticism from fellow reader friends who insist I’m missing out, but I enjoy looking for unpredictable and realistic books. Without further ado, here is my dream bookshelf.

  • “I’ll Give You the Sun” by Jandy Nelson, Fiction
    • This book is one of my yearly reads, and each time I find a new reason to cry with overwhelming emotion. This may or may not be my all-time favorite book, between the lovable characters and Jandy Nelson’s impressive and unique writing.



  • “You Are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life” by Jen Sincero, Self Help
    • I’ll admit it – I like to read a lot of self help books. Due to my lack of patience and need for control in my life, I often turn to books for advice. “You Are a Badass”, however, is much much better than the other whiny, victimizing toned books in the genre. Jen Sincero is honest, hilarious, and will help you get to where you need to be.



  • “Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert, Memoir
    • Someone recommended Elizabeth Gilbert to me a few years back, as she is a well-known and successful female writer, and “Eat Pray Love” was the first book I picked up. I was mesmerized by the strong narrator and every adventure she found herself in.



  • “The Help” by Katherine Stockett, Fiction
    • I read this book before I saw the popular movie, and along with “I’ll Give You The Sun”, is one of my yearly reads. The voice, the characters, the changing narrators, the interwoven plot, and especially the fact that it’s a book about a writer, I love “The Help” for so many reasons.



  • “Helium” by Rudy Francisco, Poetry
    • Rudy Francisco quickly became my favorite spoken word poet (if you haven’t seen him yet, just watch this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDa4WTZ_58M ). “Helium” is Rudy’s first collection, and it’s been extremely successful for this generation. I personally feel the emotion and energy of his voice in every page, and could reread this book every night.



  • “Grasshopper Jungle” by Andrew Smith, Fiction
    • When I first found Andrew Smith’s books in a bookstore one Saturday morning it was by accident. And now he’s one of my all-time favorite authors, I’ve never found writing comparable to his. My two other favorite’s of Andrew Smith’s are “100 Sideways Miles” (love love love) and “Winger” (cried cried cried).



  • “The Five People You Meet In Heaven” by Mitch Albom, Fiction
    • Speaking of crying, I had to add this Mitch Albom novel. Short, and definitely not sweet, this was the first book that ever made me cry. The format and the initial idea is genius, and of course the connections are perfect. But so freaking sad, dammit.


  • “Bossypants” by Tina Fey, Autobiography
    • I am an instant sucker for humor when it comes to books (and movies), because sad things make me extra sad. And no one makes me laugh harder than Tina Fey (and Amy Poehler), especially when it comes to girl power in comedy.



  • “Bad Feminist” by Roxane Gay, Nonfiction
    • I am taking a nonfiction class in college at the moment, and of all the work we read and study, I’ve grown fond of the voice of Roxane Gay. Not to mention, this book is fantastic and funny and sad and true and everyone should read it, to become a better, more open minded person.



  • “Milk and Honey” / “The Sun and Her Flowers” by Rupi Kaur, Poetry
    • I’ve admired the work of Rupi Kaur for a few reasons, one being that she is paving the way for self-published poetry, and two for her outspoken and fearless themes. Both of her books became bestsellers, and feature her own artwork, which add to these beautiful collections.


There you have it, my short, summarized list of a few favorites. After inserting the covers of each book, I noticed that I may be drawn to bright colors. They’re really good books nonetheless, and check out the link to “Goodreads” for a more in depth inventory.

Peace and blessings,



Library Love // YouTube

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend my Saturday in the library, so I thought I’d make a video to represent my blog from last week, “Library Love”.

Be sure to follow this blog on YouTube for video updates (and outtakes) to brighten your day.


Madeleine Rheinheimer

Grandparents: A Letter to My Future Child

Dear Future Child,

I wanted to teach you a lesson about grandparents. A lesson that will make you run into their arms every time you don’t get your way (or when I refuse your dictator requests for more popsicles, like I did often to my mother). Because believe it or not, grandparents can be your closest ally, after your father and I of course.  

You wouldn’t believe that amount of support you already have, my dear child. Between your parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents you are immensely loved and treasured. You will be our greatest joy, and greatest worry. But whenever we begin to worry about something you ate, something you said, something that’s troubling you, our sources of answers (and comfort) lie in what we’ve taught by our parents, and their parents.


My mom helped me discover the secrets of washing machines, how to dance without shame, and that there’s no limit to how many times a day calling one another is acceptable. She also taught me that beauty is self-created.

My dad helped me get into the college of my dreams, fill out so many confusing forms, paid for every writing and English program that pushed me to the place I am today, and not to mention gave me the best concert tickets (front row to Coldplay!!!!!!)

My grandma taught me how to cook eggs in a microwave, be patient with my brothers (and my grandpa) sew pillowcases and patch jeans, and create the perfect plate of appetizers. She also taught me that there is always a solution to any problem, whether it be a stain or the most difficult project in the world (I’m thinking of the science fair in particular).

My grandpa taught me how to catch the bigger fish than my brothers, how to appreciate going to the movies, how to play ping pong, how to swing a golf club, and how to have persistence in whatever adversity I face (sometimes, so much persistence it’s annoying. In the best ways possible).


My grandparents celebrating their 50th anniversary

My grandparents taught me the importance of family, as they have never missed a sporting event, concert, speech, or other event of their five grandchildren. No matter how much they felt like staying home or watching Judge Judy, they dedicated all of their time to supporting the family.

I wish I could have shown you a picture of our family calendar, darling, because you wouldn’t believe how busy it was (and still is). Each child was color-coded, and penciled in carefully. As you can imagine, there was bound to be conflicting events, what with baseball, basketball, softball, tennis, dance recitals, plays and musicals, cheerleading competitions, spelling bees, art shows, award shows, the list is endless. And yet, they never grew tired of the dreadfully cluttered calendar.

What I want you to understand is how important it is to tell your grandparents how much you love them. I hope you feel their support in every cell of your body, because besides your father and I, they’re your biggest fans in the whole world.

We are all cheering for you, dear Child.




Library Love

I’m pretty positive at this point that I was born to be a writer. Looking back at my early years, there are just too many coincidences for it to be anything less. I went through many packs of crayons (I had a tendency for intensity and crayons are fragile) illustrating my stories of mermaids and princesses. I flipped through books, memorizing the pictures so my mom thought I could read.

And most important of all, even as a child, I had my own library.

I was raised around books. My mother read to me every night before bed, as if she thought it would help me relax and grow tired. She probably read this in a book. One that didn’t account for creative writer babies. Her stories had the opposite effect on me, as you can imagine, and I would stare at her with wide eyes in alarm as she shut the book.

“One more?” I would beg, sweetly even, if I may add. Her refusals caused my pleas to become less sweet, and I became a monster. (Maybe this was the turning point of my growing into a writer, because I still do this when I have to edit my work.)

In my house, we had one official library and two unofficial libraries. My dad’s office had a wall of shelves, packed with books about baseball and business and boring old things. The sunroom had four shelves of our children’s books, ranging from Nancy Drew to Dr. Seuss (the majority of these books belong to yours truly, don’t let my brothers tell you otherwise). And lastly, the official library was remodeled into my bedroom. Originally used as my mom’s office, the entire floor of the house was dedicated to work. A row of floor to ceiling bookcases covered the walls, and were full of my parents assortments. I was comforted in this room, and was beyond thankful when my mom agreed to share it with me for a bedroom.


My “serious” reading face

When it came to moving to college, although I had an abnormally large collection of shoes and kitchen utensils and notebooks and tea, my books outweighed everything (literally). The boxes and bags of books that I told myself I couldn’t go away without are sitting on the modern wooden bookshelf I bought just for my dorm, and a majority of them haven’t been touched.

But that’s not their purpose, exactly. I brought my favorite books with me because they’re comforting. An environment where stories and binding and pages and words flow into the air is the one I breathe easiest in.

Any library is a sanctuary for me, and my campus and city are blessed with incredibly breathtaking architecture, and an even larger collection of books than I could ever imagine. I don’t know if it’s because I was born to be a writer or because I take comfort in the safety of books, but I have a love for libraries. I can’t wait until someday when I dedicate an entire room (or maybe two, or three) to my already growing stacks of books.




A Letter To My Future Child: Five Things Money Can’t Buy

Dear Future Child,

What I’m about to share is something I struggle with, but I’m not alone. I’m going to do everything I can to teach you how to overcome this problem, so you don’t have the same struggles that Mom does. Dad will be happy I’m sharing this with you.

Money isn’t everything, even though it often seems like it is. Money buys nice cars, diamond earrings, new dresses, sparkly shoes, healthy food, restaurant food, big houses, and fun trips. It buys important things like education, good health, and professional help when you can’t do something on your own.

But money can’t buy everything in the world, dear Child, no matter how much you want that doll or that trip to Disneyland. I’m going to tell you five things that are more important than money, and when you focus on these five things, everything that you ever worry about will fall away with the abundance and ease.


  • I knew in the fourth grade (is that how old you are? Maybe you’re a little older.. but I’m sure you’ve already heard this story since your Mommy likes to talk about herself so much!) that I was destined to be a writer. There was never any choice, and never any reason not to follow this passion of mine. No amount of money can change this (even if people tell me it’s a “brave” career to choose). It’s not about the money, it’s about finding the thing that makes you want to dance and sing and pick flowers. It’s called purpose, and it’s so much more important than our bank account.



  • Money buys fancy clothes, makeup, hair products, accessories, jewelry, and shiny shoes, but that’s not what makes you beautiful. The way your eyes light up when you watch the sunset, the way you have the ability to make strangers smile, the way you walk and talk and look at yours of in the mirror? Those are what represents true beauty in this society, and I already know, at age nineteen, that you are the most beautiful child in the world.


A relationship with God:

  • I hope that I teach you things. How to make scrambled eggs, how to write a story, how to dance to any song, how to talk in front of a crowded room. But above all else, I want to teach you how to speak to God. If I teach you one thing, I want you to know and feel the Higher Power in this universe. There are a lot of questions about the power of our Creator, and a simple way to think about it is that whatever/whoever this God person is, they aren’t you. There is something or someone running everything that is out of your control, and how thankful we all are for that. When you have a connection to this Divine Being, you’ll begin to believe and trust in all the good things in your life, things that money can’t buy. A relationship with God is priceless, Baby.



  • If there’s anything that’s most valuable to me (besides you and your father of course), it’s my time. It’s the one thing that I can never get back if wasted, something that is often out of my control. Time is worth so much more than money, because with just enough time and passion, all the creative happiness will begin flowing in your direction. Be careful with how you spend your time, it’s worth more than the bucks and the bills.  



  • Lastly, love is more important. Love is more important than everything, because love is everything. Time is love. God is love. Beauty is love. Passion is love. Love is what makes the world spin so perfectly, not the amount of toys you scatter around the house. No income, no savings, no funds will fill your heart like love will. When you love yourself, you achieve inner peace. When you love others, you achieve a sense of belonging. And from my understanding in the last nineteen years, that’s what everyone is chasing.

So in conclusion, darling, don’t be fooled. Mother knows best, and even if she doesn’t always take her own advice, maybe if you listen to her she’ll start listening too.

Yours already,


Yellow Nail Polish

I received my first manicure when I was eight years old. I went with my mom to a small place in our hometown mall, and was immediately overwhelmed with the smell. The chemical fume and cleaning alcohols combined and drifted through the room, hitting my poor eight-year-old self in the face like a punch.

An immediate headache formed at the base of my neck, but by the time I saw the “polish wall”, all thoughts of discomfort were forgotten. I had never seen so many different shades in my life, all organized so neatly and pristine in their racks. As a natural born artist, I almost cried at the beauty of this many colors in one place. My mom laughed at my amazement, and picked out her typical cherry red.

I, on the other hand, am very poor at decision making, and even as a child I began to fret and worry about making the wrong choice.

After minutes of contemplation and pacing along the wall, I think I chose a pink. I can’t remember, because the tickling of my toes and the scrubbing sensation along the soft bottoms of my feet made me squirm. The lady doing my pedicure didn’t even ask if I wanted a flower on the big toe, because I wasn’t even aware that was an option. She did it anyways, and put a rhinestone in the center. I was nearly in joyous tears. How could they possibly paint something so beautiful and delicate on a toe? 

My mind was blown, and I walked through the mall in my flip flops, freshly polished feet, and a freaking FLOWER on my toes. This was my first experience at the nail salon, and not much has changed or compares to the clean, glowing feeling that comes from it.

It’s been over a decade since I began getting mani/pedi’s and I’ve probably recieved over 100. And never in the past 11 years, have I gotten the color yellow.

I’ve been in somewhat of a rut lately, between the weather and my seasonal affective disorder. I’m enjoying my classes this semester, but worried about the summer, finding a job, finding an apartment, other tedious adult duties. I’ve been reading a lot of poetry though, and the more I hear about “finding and listening to your voice”, the more I realize that routine is the killer of creativity- and creativity is the life force of poets, writers, and artists.

The worst part is, I am the most routine of people. I wake up at the same time, exercise every morning, eat the same breakfast, listen to the same playlist, take the same route to class, eat the same lunch, take a nap at the same time, read and complete my homework on time, eat the same dinner, and go to bed at the same time.

And you know what? I love this. This is comfortable, this is normal, this is easy. These habits make me feel like I’m in control (THE ROOT OF ALL MY PROBLEMS), and my constant climb to control is killing my creativity.

So I made an attempt to escape. No more casual pinks, easy-going reds, I took a risk at the salon yesterday. I painted my nails BRIGHT YELLOW. And it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Today, my fingers have happily flipped through pages, typed at super speeds, and traced over notebooks with grace and ease. They remind me that there is hope, there is a sun hiding behind the clouds. This may be a small leap of faith, my silly yellow nails, or it may be the demolishing of the structured routine, in order to part the way for my creative muses to take over.

I’ll keep you posted on what color I choose next. Whatever it is, it’ll be bright, unique, bold (and maybe neon).