The Promise

I named it that because once I read this book where this girl's father tells her where he is through his letters by making her read books that take place there, and the last one he mentions is The Promise, and when she finds out there's no book called The Promise she realizes that it means he's coming home. I thought it was stupid because there is a book called The Promise. It's by Chaim Potok and it's very good.

Anyway here are some pictures.



My mom rocks. Yes, that's Secret Agent Man.



Guitars are cool. Yes, that's an eight-track tape splitter, because I am indeed an eighties garage/boy-band. And yes, that's a ukelele. Don't ask.



My abuela gave these to me for my eighth birthday. I thought they were the most beautiful things ever.



The unimpressive products of a year of Yarrott's sculpture class.



My earring lamp and Mexican Katrina. And some other shit.



Me. I tried using the flash, but it made me into a big white square so I reverted back.

So... yeah. That's my life, when I'm not doing other things.

I got up and walked around the house taking pictures until my mom got mad at me. Which was as soon as her episode ended, which was about a minute, unfortunately. Then she left, but I was too lazy to take more. Anyway this is my way of apologizing for a very strange last post.