Tiny Little Prisons

I have been collecting my ID's since I received that first momentous drivers license, freedom to carouse about town in my mom's navy blue station wagon. I think one of the reasons I am not into photography is that I prefer the pictures in my head. I am more attractive and weigh less in my head. Checkout the third one down. I seem to remember my mom telling me that shirt was NOT cute but I brushed her off. 

Unfortunate.

Drivers licenses are like little tiny prisons. You have to carry them with you always and they can not be altered except for the old ones where you could scratch off the birthday (see i.d. one), memorize a different one and get in to see Deee-lite with a boy from school. Yes, groove is in the heart.

I think I may becoming more bold as the weight works it's way off, as you can surely see from this daring display of terrible pictures. It's okay to face who I was and am because the current me isn't so damn miserable anymore. Not that I was miserable all the time but to want to change and be frozen is the worst kind of limbo, the kind where you start to doubt that God really is listening. 

I wore little wedge heels with jeans to bible study this morning. I'm not sure if it looked cute but I loved hearing the click of hard soled shoes across the linoleum. Memories of my own mother clicking across floors and her pot of Clinique lip gloss. 

So go ahead and gaze upon the Greta of yesteryear. I am discovering she wasn't all that bad despite photographic evidence to the contrary.