i should be in the library.
but instead im in Paris.

i arrive at school at 9 am to take a stab at the ridiculous pile of essays that are soon to be due. after spilling a cup of coffee, getting stuck for the longest-ten-seconds-of-my-life in an elevator and realizing my feet are soaked from the rain, i finally reach the fine arts reading room, the place where i get the most, and my best work done, to ( Read more... )

you know that feeling that you get when you wear your favorite earrings and at one point during the day it occurs to you to check if their still there, are there not?
that feeling of panic?
well that's what i've been feeling all week.

god damn essays.

borat is quite possibly the worst thing i have ever, ever seen.

december will not only bring a trip to Paris, France, but getting the chance to see Badly Drawn Boy in Paris as well as matching tattoos on forearms and a much needed lack of term papers and sculpture deadlines.

my home is empty.
my fridge is empy.
my wallet is empty.
and i can't figure out how to turn the heat on for the life of me.

i find myself nice little nooks around school for studying
and within a week, they get invaded by engineering students.
what gives.

.my bicycle is starting to feel the cold and picks arguments with me mid-travels ( Read more... )

APPARENTLY, essays don't write themselves.

who would of known.

two words; swedish massage.