The sky could not make up her mind today. Would she rain or hail? Would she do both? It was entirely too complicated. The type of precipitation wasn't as important as she had made it to be in her mind--the key was in making the cold air feel as cold as possible by sneaking wetness into the collars of jackets and past the hems of pants into ( Read more... )

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Nothing makes me happier than a weekend with my best friends, the best boyfriend in the universe, and a few really great songs. Sadly, it's time to come off this high and read for class (eep!).

I want to write you a letter. I want to write you a book ( Read more... )

New layout, bitches.

So it is true that we must keep an eye on the dash - and also the ellipsis (...), which is turning up increasingly in emails as shorthand for "more to come, actually ...it might be related to what I've just written ...but the main thing is haven't finished ...let's just wait and see ..I could go on like this for hours ..." However, so long ( Read more... )

I'm sad and hungry.

It is 1502. Vincente, the widower, tries to keep a low profile in his aerie. Lucrezia Borgia, with her hair newly dyed, is on her way from Rome to Ferrara. At twenty-one she is married for the third time, to Alfonso d'Este. Her father, wicked Pope Alexander VI, has only a year to live. Machiavelli won't publish The Prince for a decade yet, but ( Read more... )

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