Fuck this entry. Pretty much it was detailed in the previous entries ( Read more... )

Monday: Went to class and work.... Oukada had me file emails, we talked about statisics in psychology, indigenous religions in religion.... came home later and sent out text messages to a lot of people asking odd questions. Their answers made my night, except Taylor ruined it by saying I am a self centered bitch who always throws in my face how ( Read more... )

4:40 AM: Wake up. Cannot sleep, keep thinking about story ideas - this is why I do not write at night. Grab iPod, listen to music in bed trying to go back to bed ( Read more... )

He watched his cousin exchange vows with his bride-to-be. The groom smiled, the bride beamed. He didn’t feel anything inside. Weddings are supposed to be happy. Full of love. All he felt was the urge to turn and leave. But he couldn’t leave her behind.

She was the plus one, the extra seat, that was tacked onto the invitation to her boyfriend of six ( Read more... )

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This is extremely cool.

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This is extremely interesting.

I am very tired again. Thursdays are so much fun, but still busy. Ballroom dancing makes my night :)

http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

Enjoy.

I am so pooped. Monday through Thursday I do not have a minute to just relax, period.

My mom makes this every Christmas; it is incredible.

http://find.myrecipes.com/recipes/recipefinder.dyn?action=displayRecipe&recipe_id=640279

I.... am frustrated.

I cannot put my finger on the "why" exactly. It could have to do with the shit loads of work I have on top of my job and the insane number of espresso shots I had today. I have a lot of ( Read more... )

I have to create things.

Whether it be by knitting yarn into an armwarmer, painting a still life, covering myself in duct tape and making a dress maker's form, sketching, making yummy food, playing music.....I love making things!! It is a broad hobby, but I am a jack of all trades in many areas :)

Happiness: dancing wildly in your lingerie.

x-posted to six word stories

Writing.

I have every intention of following Oscar Wilde’s words: All good Americans go to Paris to die.

The city was coming to life as the sun hid away behind the Gothic architecture. As the street lamps lit the city, bustling shop keepers slammed their doors shut, turned the key, and dashed off to dinner. Roller bladders came to the edge of the ( Read more... )