Journal Pages: Two Months On

I used to be one of those people to loudly brag on about how I "function just fine on five hours of sleep". While that may or (probably) may not have been true (both the five hours and the functioning part), this has definitely changed. 

See, I gave this whole 'eight hours' thing a try, and let me tell you. It's friggin magic. Not only are a seriously disrupting caffeine habit and hazardous 4 PM afternoon dips (Geronimooo!) no longer facts of life, it turns out those slow sleepy hours between nine and noon weren't just signs of me 'not being a morning person'. I am still not a morning person, but at least my brain can perform simple tasks like tying my shoes or having a polite conversation with colleagues without insane amounts of sugar and/or coffee. 

This is all a very roundabout way of telling you that it's been two months since I last posted here. And it's because I chose sleep over blogging. And I am not sorry. Sleep is glorious, you should try it. Enjoy the long ass update!

Journal Pages: Where the Eagles Cry!

I am a known 'stadsmens', as we say in Dutch. A 'city person'. I grew up in the city, have always lived in cities, and I just very much love and enjoy cities - the bigger, the busier, the better.

I enjoy the concept of nature and the outdoors, but severe allergies to everything natural, a constant need for stimuli and soy lattes, as well as weak knees have often been enough reason for me to not venture too far away from civilization. Now, though, I seem to have found a reason to actually love nature: I love painting mountains. 

Journal Pages: The Spread

I'm rekindling my love for doing double page layouts. It means I have to be extra careful with what materials I am using on the page, but I love the look of a full book, bursting with color on every page. Here's a few snaps of my Dublin pages. 

Journal Pages: Flying Food

One thing I like about cities, is the sense of anonymity. You don't have to get to know your neighbors if you don't want to, and no one will gossip about you when you don't show up to a local bake off or god knows what. Unfortunately, the paper like quality of our ceilings and walls make that I've inadvertently gotten to know my neighbors quite well. Including their ringtones, party schedules, and favorite songs. Everything but their name, really.

So off to the British countryside I went with my friend and colleague Hannah, to assist her on her 'shoot'. No, not a shoot of the fashion variety, but a shoot of the dead-bird variety. I had a lovely time, outside, breathing air that was so fresh it almost hurt my poor city girl lungs, sniffing up the smell of gun powder, drinking gin, wearing tweed. It was truly a unique experience. Yet, while I am convinced many a supermarket chicken would happily trade with the partridges and pheasants that day, it was odd. Bringing home a dead bird to pluck, gut, and eat is a lot more 'real' than buying a pink patty in the store. There's real power in knowing where your food comes from, and it's inspiring me to eat (even) more consciously and eat selectively.