Skip to main content

about


Hi! I'm Maura. I'm a quirky and relatable teen and Kansas City is home. I'll be in Chicago as of fall 2018 though, a fact that my home-on-the-range heart is still trying to deal with.
I don't really know what I like to do. Kind of everything.
I'm vaguely obsessed with personality tests (Temperament: melancholic, Myers-Briggs: infj, Alignment: chaotic good).
I think Sufjan Stevens, Vance Joy, Hozier, The Lumineers, The Front Bottoms, The Avett Brothers, The Head And The Heart, and Sleeping At Last make some pretty rad music.
I believe that good books are God's way of telling us he loves us and wants us to be happy.
I wish my life was a Wes Anderson movie.
I'm an unapologetic feminist.
I'm the queen of awkward dancing.
I like early mornings, gardens and worms, sunrises, oil paints, clean sheets and the smell of coffee brewing.
My favorite color is blue or yellow or green or pink it depends on the hour.
All I want is a mango and world peace.








Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

big city kitty

I'm from Kansas City, but I live in Chicago. Maybe those words are a little over-excited. Okay, maybe going to college some place isn't the same as living somewhere, like in an actual sense. But also in an actual-actual sense, in 2019 I will spend more time in Chicago then I will in Kansas City and wow oh wow isn't that weird??? I think about a lot about how when I moved to Chicago, I was the exact same age my mother was when she left it. And I think about how at the time she left she probably never would have guess that it was the beginning of the end of her living in Chicago, that she was about to meet the man who would take her away from that city. I think about how they both lived here when they were only a little older than I. About how they walked down the same streets and L stops and also stared out at Lake Michigan and felt the same way I feel when you first glimpse the Sears tower coming in from the red line. (I guess they probably would have taken the brown ...
Post a Comment
Read more

the last of days

What do people who don't have a perfect nostalgic 50's diner that serves the world's most perfect onion rings and milkshakes that no doubt are imported from the land of milk and honey, wherever that is? How do they survive without the perfect visual metaphor for your idyllic adolescence, hundred of visits there after shows where you poured into the show everything your high school drama club member self could, on hot summer days where there seems like nothing else to do and you haven't seen your friends in ages, on pouring days where you dispense every ounce of wisdom you have to the tiny little baby freshman three years younger than you, after a long night out when the only thing you want to do more than sleep is have a god damn cherry limeade? How on earth do you do it? How am I gonna do it? I don't want this to be long, but it is 11:59 on Wednesday August 15th and tomorrow I am moving 500 miles away from home and all my friends and family and l...
Post a Comment
Read more

i (hate) you like a (saturday) morning

This morning I made myself breakfast and tried to figure out if I like being alone. I made a pesto, mozzarella, and salami on toast sandwich, a fried egg, and strawberries just on the cusp of coming in season and wondered if I was going to make it. For my sandwich, I would have liked to have different types of meats and different cheeses. I would have killed for some sopressata and prosciutto, and maybe add some provolone and Gouda, oh that would have been divine. If it was spring or summer, I would have gone out to my garden and get some fresh basil, and if it were even later in the summer, I would have added a thin slice of tomato. Am I someone who needs companionship? Will I do okay alone next year, when I've never really been alone?  I over salted the egg, but the strawberries were to die for and I thought about how far I'd be from all the people I love. A quiet morning eating and listening to Vance Joy's new album is the perfect setting to be filled with existe...
Post a Comment
Read more