This is my response to the ever so popular “Date a girl who reads”/”Date an illiterate girl” articles.
Date whoever the fuck you want. You can find them anywhere. They will either be sipping from a wide range of beverages, or not drinking at all. Find them in the nightclub, in the library, at school, at your next door neighbor’s house. Realize that even if she doesn’t know who the hell James Joyce is, it doesn’t make her stupid. And if she does pretend, it doesn’t make her pretentious.
Date whoever the fuck you want, because chances are, they’re not going to call you out on having a type. Search for him or her in the low shadow of the concert hall or in the fluorescent lighting backstage. Understand that just because someone doesn’t read regularly doesn’t mean they’re illiterate. Whoever the fuck you choose will be grateful, because you, my friend, are a paragon of integrity. Don’t know what that means? Well, clearly, you aren’t a girl who reads.
Whoever the fuck you choose will not have a type to comply with, because they will be their own person. They will not be filed under any superficial category, for contrary to popular belief, there is a plethora of people out there who do not strictly fit under either “bookworm” or “partygoer.” She or he might be wearing a short skirt or a full tuxedo. They might be a stripper. They might be a librarian. They might be both.
You will propose to them by doing whatever the fuck you want. Whenever the fuck you want. However the fuck you want. But don’t do it over Skype. (What the fuck? Why would a girl who reads want to be proposed to over Skype? No.) Also, if your girl is reciting Keats under her breath like some sort of psycho I’m worried.
Understand that if you choose a girl who reads, it doesn’t mean that she automatically understands people. If you find whoever the fuck you want, keep them close. Hopefully, they will cherish the fact that you chose them for who they are and not what they do. Whoever the fuck you choose will understand that people develop, as well, and they will be proud of you for getting past the utterly judgmental state of “I’m solely looking for someone who does/does not read.”
Date whoever the fuck you want, because you deserve it. After all this time of reading all these blogs about what kind of attitude the girl you date should possess, you get a break. Go choose on your own. Don’t subscribe to bullshit. Date whoever the fuck you want, because your mind wants what it fucking wants.
Or better yet, don’t date anyone at all.
08 December 2011
06 December 2011
STRESSBLOG
Now that my first true college finals (as opposed to the fake college finals I took at community college?) are approaching, my writing proficiency portfolio is due by Saturday, the DC Yule Ball is Friday, my last art class is tomorrow and I'll be putting that portfolio all night, and this is a run on sentence...
Well, NOW I've decided that amidst the procrastination, it is a good time to STRESSBLOG. STRESSBLOG is in ALL CAPS because STRESSBLOG insinuates that I am stressed and blogging. Which I am. I know I need to stop this instant. My memoir for nonfiction class is calling my name. This girl in the library needs to stop talking so loud. I got very excited at the idea of the "quiet zone" when finals time came along, but this is not a quiet zone. It is a war zone. It is a STRESSBLOG war zone of little soldiers at their carbon copy computers, shoved in their carbon copy carrels (is that how you spell the computer desk object thing that traps you inside like a cell?)
The soldiers who are marching on the thesis line are hunched over their keyboards, tapping away bullshit to store for later use. It could help them become a doctor. It could help them become a publisher. Or it could just help them graduate and therefore be in debt. Then there's the c.) all of the above option, but no one thinks of that come crunch time.
The lazier fighters, the ones who will probably get executed by the time they stomp forward to the thesis line, are too busy on Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter, Etsy, refreshing their mail accounts, and STRESSBLOGing. People want to know about their lives SO much that they curl into little balls in their faded, mysteriously dirty orange womb chairs and try to escape the pressure. Why do work when they can focus on their own life and talk about the things that have been affecting them as if they're #1 on everyone's list?
Since my last blog post, I've been elected co-president of Prism, the gay club here, with my friend Carina. I'm pretty excited, but also kind of nervous. Prism presidents lead the discussion each week with the group, and once the actual president was absent so Carina and I did it. And it was kind of scary cause people have opinions and opinions are scary. Especially when they're WRONG. Just kidding. Kind of. We're submitting our club budget soon (yeah, yeah, we're late as hell), and gearing up for a Drag Ball in Gaypril. Yaaay!
Here I am, comfortably situated in middle of the soldiers, not quite to the thesis line but not at the stumbling end. I know where I'm going, I've just got to get there. And I guess that's a lot better than a lot of people come finals time. Before I end this blog I also need to stress how proud I am of my college for having four Twitters dedicated to 3 buildings and a road on campus.
I'm living the awesome life.
This turned out to be less of a STRESSBLOG than a MAYBEIMNOTSOSTRESSEDIMJUSTCOMPLAINING blog. But I hope you liked it anyway.
Metal smiles and Hagrid hugs,
Tianna
Well, NOW I've decided that amidst the procrastination, it is a good time to STRESSBLOG. STRESSBLOG is in ALL CAPS because STRESSBLOG insinuates that I am stressed and blogging. Which I am. I know I need to stop this instant. My memoir for nonfiction class is calling my name. This girl in the library needs to stop talking so loud. I got very excited at the idea of the "quiet zone" when finals time came along, but this is not a quiet zone. It is a war zone. It is a STRESSBLOG war zone of little soldiers at their carbon copy computers, shoved in their carbon copy carrels (is that how you spell the computer desk object thing that traps you inside like a cell?)
The soldiers who are marching on the thesis line are hunched over their keyboards, tapping away bullshit to store for later use. It could help them become a doctor. It could help them become a publisher. Or it could just help them graduate and therefore be in debt. Then there's the c.) all of the above option, but no one thinks of that come crunch time.
The lazier fighters, the ones who will probably get executed by the time they stomp forward to the thesis line, are too busy on Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter, Etsy, refreshing their mail accounts, and STRESSBLOGing. People want to know about their lives SO much that they curl into little balls in their faded, mysteriously dirty orange womb chairs and try to escape the pressure. Why do work when they can focus on their own life and talk about the things that have been affecting them as if they're #1 on everyone's list?
Since my last blog post, I've been elected co-president of Prism, the gay club here, with my friend Carina. I'm pretty excited, but also kind of nervous. Prism presidents lead the discussion each week with the group, and once the actual president was absent so Carina and I did it. And it was kind of scary cause people have opinions and opinions are scary. Especially when they're WRONG. Just kidding. Kind of. We're submitting our club budget soon (yeah, yeah, we're late as hell), and gearing up for a Drag Ball in Gaypril. Yaaay!
Here I am, comfortably situated in middle of the soldiers, not quite to the thesis line but not at the stumbling end. I know where I'm going, I've just got to get there. And I guess that's a lot better than a lot of people come finals time. Before I end this blog I also need to stress how proud I am of my college for having four Twitters dedicated to 3 buildings and a road on campus.
I'm living the awesome life.
This turned out to be less of a STRESSBLOG than a MAYBEIMNOTSOSTRESSEDIMJUSTCOMPLAINING blog. But I hope you liked it anyway.
Metal smiles and Hagrid hugs,
Tianna
23 November 2011
giving thanks and tofurky, and being content
hello friends! or just empty virtual air space. it is thanksgiving eve and i haven't updated in a while. honestly, i think the title of this blog is quite redundant. tofurky should just be a synonym for "giving thanks". because that's how i feel when i eat it. it feels like a deep, fresh breath of thanks.
lately i've been very content. i still speak and think stubbornly, which i'm working on - okay not really, maybe, sort of - but i'm not upset 24/7 anymore. i don't know if "leveling" is the right word to use, but i guess i've come to terms with the inexplicable sadness in my life. and there are little things, little dreams i have had for years that have recently come true, or started to blossom and turn into truths. like how i know i'm awesome, like how i know i'm talented, and creative, and worth something. and i've come to terms with more difficult things too, like how i may never speak to my sister again, like how i have a crummy relationship with my dad and brother, like how my cat insists on lying on my printer and violently swishing her tail through the blue plastic beads hanging nearby.
as much as i don't like to admit it for the cheesiness factor alone, this time of year makes me very sentimental. not that i'm not always sort of sentimental, but this time of year especially makes me reflect on the past year more than christmas or the actual new year does. and this year, i'm very content. maybe it's the fact that i have overcome so many things that i never thought i could: go to college, live with a roommate, get a job, get a girlfriend, be happy for an extended period of time, etc. i'm not even sure where these things all came from. it seems as if i was dropped into some weird crater of adulthood and i came out morphed as a human being worth the "being".
i often think like this, and then the negatives all hit me at once: thousands of my nonexistant dollars are still due in january for next semester, i need to get on things like internships and volunteer work, i need to stop being so awkward, i need to stop being so ugly/incompetent/stupid. and then something happens, and i straighten my spine and say "fuck it". and i think the something that happens is i think of someone. and that someone i think is really two people. and those two people are the women who led my early immersion program at college, cynthia and yona.
sitting at my squeaky cloth computer chair four or so months back, i groaned at the idea of an early immersion program. they all sounded so lame. i wasn't that interested in baltimore city, i didn't really have an urge to do community service, and i wasn't religious enough for the one called "inspire".. although yes, it had a cool name, i had to admit. plus, the fee of $75 made my bank card, my mother, and my mind shrink in fear. anything over $15 pushed our buttons regardless of the value. but to my mother (and it's catching on to me), knowledge is priceless. that's why we'll struggle with the thousands of dollars due each year for school. and it's paid off already. in inspire and after, yona and cynthia taught me that i'm good enough, and that my best doesn't always need to be exerted, as long as i try. and for that, i couldn't thank them enough. they are two of the most calming people i have ever, ever met.
another one of those calming people is mrs. krett, who was my senior english teacher. i would end up crying to her in the chair next to hers behind her desk about the various mundane aspects of my life, such as "he won't take me to prom" or "i feel so overwhelmed..." "by what?" "nothing. no seriously, nothing." after she handed me the tissue box, she would give me this motherly look with her brow raised. it wasn't a pitying look, but it could have passed for one.
i know mrs. krett just wanted me to be brave. earlier in the year she had commented on how i really had my "shit together" and how she wished she could've done so when she was my age. she saw me get rejected from my top 9 (out of 10) colleges within a 2 week span. she hugged me after each one and let me attempt to disguise my tears of disgust with myself.
i think i'll always remember one thing she told me during a cry session. "you don't have to be happy. it's enough to just be content." and i don't know if she knew how much she impacted me when she told me that. it's my goal to let her know someday, without her laughing, without my voice breaking, and without seeming insincere. i want her to know how much she's changed me, to this day, for me to be able to sit down and extensively blog - something i never ever got the motivation to do - about my life, and about being content. because that's what i am. and i've been working to get to this point ever since she told me that. and i will never stop working.
lately i've been very content. i still speak and think stubbornly, which i'm working on - okay not really, maybe, sort of - but i'm not upset 24/7 anymore. i don't know if "leveling" is the right word to use, but i guess i've come to terms with the inexplicable sadness in my life. and there are little things, little dreams i have had for years that have recently come true, or started to blossom and turn into truths. like how i know i'm awesome, like how i know i'm talented, and creative, and worth something. and i've come to terms with more difficult things too, like how i may never speak to my sister again, like how i have a crummy relationship with my dad and brother, like how my cat insists on lying on my printer and violently swishing her tail through the blue plastic beads hanging nearby.
as much as i don't like to admit it for the cheesiness factor alone, this time of year makes me very sentimental. not that i'm not always sort of sentimental, but this time of year especially makes me reflect on the past year more than christmas or the actual new year does. and this year, i'm very content. maybe it's the fact that i have overcome so many things that i never thought i could: go to college, live with a roommate, get a job, get a girlfriend, be happy for an extended period of time, etc. i'm not even sure where these things all came from. it seems as if i was dropped into some weird crater of adulthood and i came out morphed as a human being worth the "being".
i often think like this, and then the negatives all hit me at once: thousands of my nonexistant dollars are still due in january for next semester, i need to get on things like internships and volunteer work, i need to stop being so awkward, i need to stop being so ugly/incompetent/stupid. and then something happens, and i straighten my spine and say "fuck it". and i think the something that happens is i think of someone. and that someone i think is really two people. and those two people are the women who led my early immersion program at college, cynthia and yona.
sitting at my squeaky cloth computer chair four or so months back, i groaned at the idea of an early immersion program. they all sounded so lame. i wasn't that interested in baltimore city, i didn't really have an urge to do community service, and i wasn't religious enough for the one called "inspire".. although yes, it had a cool name, i had to admit. plus, the fee of $75 made my bank card, my mother, and my mind shrink in fear. anything over $15 pushed our buttons regardless of the value. but to my mother (and it's catching on to me), knowledge is priceless. that's why we'll struggle with the thousands of dollars due each year for school. and it's paid off already. in inspire and after, yona and cynthia taught me that i'm good enough, and that my best doesn't always need to be exerted, as long as i try. and for that, i couldn't thank them enough. they are two of the most calming people i have ever, ever met.
another one of those calming people is mrs. krett, who was my senior english teacher. i would end up crying to her in the chair next to hers behind her desk about the various mundane aspects of my life, such as "he won't take me to prom" or "i feel so overwhelmed..." "by what?" "nothing. no seriously, nothing." after she handed me the tissue box, she would give me this motherly look with her brow raised. it wasn't a pitying look, but it could have passed for one.
i know mrs. krett just wanted me to be brave. earlier in the year she had commented on how i really had my "shit together" and how she wished she could've done so when she was my age. she saw me get rejected from my top 9 (out of 10) colleges within a 2 week span. she hugged me after each one and let me attempt to disguise my tears of disgust with myself.
i think i'll always remember one thing she told me during a cry session. "you don't have to be happy. it's enough to just be content." and i don't know if she knew how much she impacted me when she told me that. it's my goal to let her know someday, without her laughing, without my voice breaking, and without seeming insincere. i want her to know how much she's changed me, to this day, for me to be able to sit down and extensively blog - something i never ever got the motivation to do - about my life, and about being content. because that's what i am. and i've been working to get to this point ever since she told me that. and i will never stop working.
13 November 2011
"how's the 4.0 coming?"
well, at first it slipped and slid way up the junior year slope,
took some tumbles, twists, and turns of a senior,
got stowed away in my suitcases,
all packed up for college,
tucked away soundly in between cotton,
pink, gray, yellow, blue, fabric far from new,
stuffed in the trunk along with my guitar and other junk,
propelled forward with the air from thin, pursed lips,
set free into the air, wings flapping inside a chilly dorm room,
bouncing off walls of a mind aspiring to be a mind,
stuck in the sometimes scalding, sometimes soothing showers,
lazing in the dining hall, its fork dripping from its bottom lip,
and now
at a standstill
safe along my mattress
so mom, when you ask how my 4.0 is coming
i'll tell you
"i'm not sure,
but i'm enjoying myself."
it's got to be up there somewhere, hasn't it?
just a quick cry and the ring of a dinner bell
it'll run through the forest,
up the back yard,
and scale the walls to the kitchen in no time.
took some tumbles, twists, and turns of a senior,
got stowed away in my suitcases,
all packed up for college,
tucked away soundly in between cotton,
pink, gray, yellow, blue, fabric far from new,
stuffed in the trunk along with my guitar and other junk,
propelled forward with the air from thin, pursed lips,
set free into the air, wings flapping inside a chilly dorm room,
bouncing off walls of a mind aspiring to be a mind,
stuck in the sometimes scalding, sometimes soothing showers,
lazing in the dining hall, its fork dripping from its bottom lip,
and now
at a standstill
safe along my mattress
so mom, when you ask how my 4.0 is coming
i'll tell you
"i'm not sure,
but i'm enjoying myself."
it's got to be up there somewhere, hasn't it?
just a quick cry and the ring of a dinner bell
it'll run through the forest,
up the back yard,
and scale the walls to the kitchen in no time.
07 November 2011
Without poems and deep thoughts...
I find myself being unsure what to write about. I see people blogging about Halloween and candy, how their day went and their new hair color. Meanwhile I'm sitting over here on the fence with my notepad watching the game play out, wondering where to start with each entry. It's sort of the same problem I have with vlogging. There seems to be no point to it, like I'm not getting anywhere and no one really wants to watch me ramble about my mundane life anyway. But there are hundreds of subscribers on my YouTube channel and only 25 followers here who probably haven't stuck around since I created this thing however many years ago. So... here goes nothing. I'm gonna dive right in and blog about my life.
So I've been in college in Maryland for two and a half months now. It feels incredible typing that, almost unreal. It honestly feels like it's been so much longer, like I've been here for half my life or something. It just feels like home. Which is why my financial situation is so frustrating: I want to stay here, I need to be with the people I love, but I don't know if my bank account can handle it.
I love that I can talk about love so freely here. I can tell people I love them and mean it. I don't have to worry about it or think twice. I was very lucky for the harsh experiences I had leading up to college because it prepared me to be honest and brave and say what's on my mind. I don't know where I would be without those qualities.
So each semester we get 500 printer points. For both my English and Creative Nonfiction classes we have to print drafts of everyone's work and give them feedback, as well as printing out letters to the author. For english the minimum page number is 3, for Nonfiction it's 5. There's 15 people in one class, 17 in the other. I'm just gonna let you do the math on the amount of printer points that is. I'm at 230 right now and I'm about to have to steal some from someone else. Honestly, it's mostly frustrating because it's such a waste of friggin trees. Jeez.
My German teacher seems to think I'm some kind of language prodigy because I've taken three years of German and know more than most people in my class. Which isn't really saying much because I'm in the first level of German and if you've taken three years of it you should probably be more advanced.... just sayin'. She keeps cornering me and telling me that I need to go to Berlin this summer. and I'm like teach, my bank account don't bend that way. She seems to think otherwise. And lets me know often that my girlfriend is thinking about going. Which I know she's not because she's my girlfriend. Which is another improvement in my life. I'm not letting fear of relationships get to me. I'm far from home, and I've neatly shoved the past into a mason jar. It's not going to find me here.
I'm going to a wizard rock show this Wednesday in Springfield, Virginia with my friend Alex. This whole time I've been at college I've been yearning to attend a wizard rock show and take my mind off things. Even when I'm happy, extra weight gets lifted off my shoulders when I sit in a circle up front and listen to music about the Boy Who Lived. It's more than refreshing, it's more exciting than the most accurate metaphor, and I'm simply bouncing in my comfy blue library chair. I love the fact that I've been going to wizard rock shows since 2007 and each one feels as fresh and brand new as the one before. It just gets my bones so jumpy and happy and nothing else matters.
Last Friday, a girl named Mal Blum came to play in Baltimore. I found this adorable musician through my friend Liz who knew of my love of "Ampersand" by Amanda Palmer and sent me a link to Mal's cover of the song. I then found her other videos and became just a little bit infatuated with her. This was over a year ago. A month or so ago I shared her "Baltimore" music video with my college friends and they fell in love with her too. That's why we were all freaking out (okay, it was mainly just me freaking out) when we found out she was playing so close to us.
The collegetown shuttle ended up never coming and so we took Jimmy's taxi-van-thing down to the 2640 Space, where I hid from Mal's gorgeousness until after she and an amazingly talented Zoe Boekbinder sang their gorgeous melodies into the mic. I Hagrid-hugged Mal and explained the concept of Hagrid hugs, my friend Elisabeth's earthworm face, and told her of Liz's obsession with her, to which she replied, "I'm obsessed with her too!" and then wrote her a note. She was just so freaking nice and friendly and she gave me her contact info to book her at our school and eeeeee I freaked out forever because she's just such a sweetheart and I'm so glad I got to see her and got the lady balls to talk to her. It was such a nice intimate venue and I'd love to go back sometime soon.
Well, my hands are aching now and I need to go back to revising English papers. This talking about my life thing is kind of nice. Maybe I'll do it more often and eventually vlogging might even come naturally.
Metal smiles and Hagrid hugs,
Tianna
So I've been in college in Maryland for two and a half months now. It feels incredible typing that, almost unreal. It honestly feels like it's been so much longer, like I've been here for half my life or something. It just feels like home. Which is why my financial situation is so frustrating: I want to stay here, I need to be with the people I love, but I don't know if my bank account can handle it.
I love that I can talk about love so freely here. I can tell people I love them and mean it. I don't have to worry about it or think twice. I was very lucky for the harsh experiences I had leading up to college because it prepared me to be honest and brave and say what's on my mind. I don't know where I would be without those qualities.
So each semester we get 500 printer points. For both my English and Creative Nonfiction classes we have to print drafts of everyone's work and give them feedback, as well as printing out letters to the author. For english the minimum page number is 3, for Nonfiction it's 5. There's 15 people in one class, 17 in the other. I'm just gonna let you do the math on the amount of printer points that is. I'm at 230 right now and I'm about to have to steal some from someone else. Honestly, it's mostly frustrating because it's such a waste of friggin trees. Jeez.
My German teacher seems to think I'm some kind of language prodigy because I've taken three years of German and know more than most people in my class. Which isn't really saying much because I'm in the first level of German and if you've taken three years of it you should probably be more advanced.... just sayin'. She keeps cornering me and telling me that I need to go to Berlin this summer. and I'm like teach, my bank account don't bend that way. She seems to think otherwise. And lets me know often that my girlfriend is thinking about going. Which I know she's not because she's my girlfriend. Which is another improvement in my life. I'm not letting fear of relationships get to me. I'm far from home, and I've neatly shoved the past into a mason jar. It's not going to find me here.
I'm going to a wizard rock show this Wednesday in Springfield, Virginia with my friend Alex. This whole time I've been at college I've been yearning to attend a wizard rock show and take my mind off things. Even when I'm happy, extra weight gets lifted off my shoulders when I sit in a circle up front and listen to music about the Boy Who Lived. It's more than refreshing, it's more exciting than the most accurate metaphor, and I'm simply bouncing in my comfy blue library chair. I love the fact that I've been going to wizard rock shows since 2007 and each one feels as fresh and brand new as the one before. It just gets my bones so jumpy and happy and nothing else matters.
Last Friday, a girl named Mal Blum came to play in Baltimore. I found this adorable musician through my friend Liz who knew of my love of "Ampersand" by Amanda Palmer and sent me a link to Mal's cover of the song. I then found her other videos and became just a little bit infatuated with her. This was over a year ago. A month or so ago I shared her "Baltimore" music video with my college friends and they fell in love with her too. That's why we were all freaking out (okay, it was mainly just me freaking out) when we found out she was playing so close to us.
The collegetown shuttle ended up never coming and so we took Jimmy's taxi-van-thing down to the 2640 Space, where I hid from Mal's gorgeousness until after she and an amazingly talented Zoe Boekbinder sang their gorgeous melodies into the mic. I Hagrid-hugged Mal and explained the concept of Hagrid hugs, my friend Elisabeth's earthworm face, and told her of Liz's obsession with her, to which she replied, "I'm obsessed with her too!" and then wrote her a note. She was just so freaking nice and friendly and she gave me her contact info to book her at our school and eeeeee I freaked out forever because she's just such a sweetheart and I'm so glad I got to see her and got the lady balls to talk to her. It was such a nice intimate venue and I'd love to go back sometime soon.
Well, my hands are aching now and I need to go back to revising English papers. This talking about my life thing is kind of nice. Maybe I'll do it more often and eventually vlogging might even come naturally.
Metal smiles and Hagrid hugs,
Tianna
01 November 2011
clean
fuchsia and lime.
wrap me up and take your time.
until morning, we walk the quad.
arm in arm, golden silence.
you won't ask me how i'm doing.
it's ingrained in your brain:
"okay."
our ghosts are with us everywhere we go.
we strangle them, fight with death.
we're not as weak as we thought.
wrap me up and take your time.
until morning, we walk the quad.
arm in arm, golden silence.
you won't ask me how i'm doing.
it's ingrained in your brain:
"okay."
our ghosts are with us everywhere we go.
we strangle them, fight with death.
we're not as weak as we thought.
31 October 2011
Sleep is calling me
and I'm sitting awake, learning King of Anything on my ukulele that is far too out of tune. Just had a minor panic attack because I thought I left my laptop charger in the library and I am in no fit state to go and get it. But alas, it's in my bag. Okay. Anyway. It's hot. I've noticed that I get irrationally cold or hot depending on my mood. But most of the time I'm hot. If I'm not sweating, I'm about to. (Exhibit A that there's something wrong with Tianna.)
Classes have been stressing me out this past week. What jumps to mind first is my literary journalism assignment for Creative Nonfiction class. I usually enjoy going to this class but I'm honestly dreading going this Wednesday. This is going to sound horrible, but I'm really not that interested in most people. My topic is broad. My interviewees are nonexistent. My people skills are horrible. The fucks I give for this class are dwindling. I still haven't revised the piece I wrote to get published 3 weeks ago. I'm just kind of slacking and making up for it by making closer friendships. I need to find the healthy balance between the two again soon.
But now I need Katie's blanket that feels like a cloud, my Hogwarts blanket that feels like my cat Cheshire, and an empty mind. Okay, maybe thoughts of the cinnamon apple candle in my living room back home are welcome. It's gonna be okay, I'm registering for next semester, and I'm applying for more jobs. I'm gonna get better even if this one essay sucks Buckbeak balls. My excitement to let the bed swallow me whole is even more enticing than the anticipation to eat. Which, knowing me, is saying something, cause I really like food.
Classes have been stressing me out this past week. What jumps to mind first is my literary journalism assignment for Creative Nonfiction class. I usually enjoy going to this class but I'm honestly dreading going this Wednesday. This is going to sound horrible, but I'm really not that interested in most people. My topic is broad. My interviewees are nonexistent. My people skills are horrible. The fucks I give for this class are dwindling. I still haven't revised the piece I wrote to get published 3 weeks ago. I'm just kind of slacking and making up for it by making closer friendships. I need to find the healthy balance between the two again soon.
But now I need Katie's blanket that feels like a cloud, my Hogwarts blanket that feels like my cat Cheshire, and an empty mind. Okay, maybe thoughts of the cinnamon apple candle in my living room back home are welcome. It's gonna be okay, I'm registering for next semester, and I'm applying for more jobs. I'm gonna get better even if this one essay sucks Buckbeak balls. My excitement to let the bed swallow me whole is even more enticing than the anticipation to eat. Which, knowing me, is saying something, cause I really like food.
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