I am unsure about ( Read more... )

Here I am, Week Six of Quarter One, Year Three, rolling along in class reading all sorts of texts that beg to be dissected with the scalpel of the modern age, when suddenly the wind behind my sails is sucked away by one man:

JoyceJames Joyce - I like to call him JJ, for short - makes me roll over in my bed and cry into my sheets. He colors my El ( Read more... )

Well, I used to constructively channel my angst, as previously posted, but instead now I leave crying, vulnerable messages on my favorite boy's answering machine at 3 in the morning because i can't possibly figure out that to curl up next to him in a ball and cry my heart out is a better idea. That to be receptive to him might help me. That I sit ( Read more... )

. . .HOUSE HEELS.

Damn me if I didn't find meself the sickest pair of metal-stiletto-platformed-glitter-infused, white-and-black-patent-leather-strapped-with-gold-accents, Hedwig-in-the-burleque-house, wear-em-to-bed-fabulous, dance party pumps!

I constructively channel my angst. I ball up my frustration about still not having presented Twelfth ( Read more... )

you know when you're writing in your scrapbook, and it's 12 o'clock in the goddamn evening, and you're sweaty so you've taken your tights off, and you're just writing and writing and crossing out and scribbling in the margins and you feel that faint internal grin begin to rise in your heart, move up your throat, until it's exposed itself right ( Read more... )

i've spent the last week getting lost in costume shops on the northside, caressing black sequin heels, madonna corsets, and plaid pleated day-dresses. six days a week i wear the same jeans-and-t-shirt fare, but drop me on roscoe street on a saturday afternoon and i'm a kid in candyland, drinking in every buckle, mink, and prom-night reject. it puts ( Read more... )

it's already sunday evening and the weight of academic performance is back upon me and everyone in my midst, but i'm watching Top Hat - what else? - because it always seems to soothe my nerves and help me get my bearings. it's a pity i usually fail to get any work done while it's on. i never cease to admire the theatrical succinctness and finesse ( Read more... )

Sometimes it's just too sweet a Sunday. I come home to french toast and candy exploding from the freezer. I get the play by play of Cousin's awful but side-splitting encounter with Marigold K. on her birthday. We clean the living room and then it's off on a neighborhood jaunt in the brisk Chicago evening. All the half-standing trees, cracked open ( Read more... )

glorious day, you've come again ( Read more... )

seven days 'til my 20th birthday ( Read more... )