Guilty pleasures.

I have a confession.
I occasionally indulge in long marathons of watching episodes of "Bones." It has the makings of becoming a problem. Lately, sitting in my family room and drinking iced tea while watching Booth and Bones run around solving crimes has unearthed some youthful fantasies.

When I was thirteen I wanted to be a forensic anthropologist.
It started with a mystery magazine my Mom had brought home for me. I was already hooked on The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, and getting obsessed with Dick Tracy didn't help at all. But I think what really did me in was that magazine--and copious amounts of Sherlock Holmes. I pored over it for hours. Reading and re-reading the stories. I especially liked the one written by the woman who studied dead bodies. She was my favorite.
I wanted to be her.
I really was going to do it. Grow up, go to school, become super smart, and then get a really high-paying job and have a handsome partner. It seemed like a logical and well thought out life plan to me.

Then I realized I was not so good at math or science and I am quite sentimental and probably wouldn't be able to retain a cool demeanor while studying human remains.
Everything seems simpler when you are thirteen.

Today I wrote a lot. A lot a lot. It was good. I didn't mention dead bodies once. And that didn't phase me. I wrote happy things. Mostly about food and the Bible and girls with long hair. I am working on some secret things. One is about the ocean. It's not really a secret, but it is till he reads it.

I finish Jeremiah the day after tomorrow. I think I'm nervous. But I will just pretend to be as collected as Bones is and think about facts. Sometimes it is very hard for me to think about facts when I read my Bible. I should try and be more analytical.

Also, there is a slight chance I now want to name one of my future children "Temperance." If only for the sake of nostalgia and dead childhood dreams.
Bell(who was thirteen again today).