It Can Be Hugs Time Now Please?

No, Juno. Mommy's working. Kindly get off her papers and move away--AWAY--from her laptop so that she can finish. And while you're at it, could you please wipe that nonchalant, I'm-so-not-trying-to-manipulate-things-my-way look off your cute kitty face? We'll snggle later. Promise.

P.S. Erin, this isn't the world's greatest blog post, but...I'm rusty. Really rusty. But you, my dear friend, are a true inspiration. BELIEVE IN YOUR DREAMS!!!

Happiness is...

...trying a new ice cream flavor. Birthday Cake Remix from Coldstone? I think YES.

Fry Me

Maybe it's just me, but I think it might be a bad thing that the only way I can convince myself to commit to hours worth of paper-writing goodness is to promise myself golden delicious, oh so unhealthy french fries for lunch. With a nice big helping of giant greasy chicken sandwich on the side. And the world's biggest Coke EVER to wash it all down.

But you know, a student's got to do what a student's got to do. It's those little things that keep you sane. If you need a happy little treat (or giant combo meal) to get you through a long hard day, go for it. You have to balance the good and the bad, or at least add a little touch of excitement to an otherwise totally wretched day. This could mean eating ice cream. This could mean buying new shampoo. This could mean taking a few minutes to read something you actually enjoy. This could mean (insert your happy little moment here).

The point is, I think there's always a reason to indulge just the tiniest little bit. I'm not saying you should go crazy every day and do whatever you want because gosh darn it, you deserve it, but enjoy those little things that help you from falling too deeply into the assorted woes of daily life.

That being said, it's time for fries. ALPHA SQUADRON, GO!

Kitty's Kitty

My baby, Juno, glaring me down. I thought it deserved some sort of a snarky caption.

To the monstrously tall man who apparently thought I was going too slow up the stairs:

You, sir, are freakishly tall. I, on the other hand, happen to be a happy little 5'5". Now, I understand that your legs make up approximately 85% of your eight feet of freakish tallness, and I recognize that that means you move just a bit faster than me. But here's the deal: there are three flights--THREE FLIGHTS--of stairs, and they're not your average flights of stairs. There must be like fifty steps of extreme steepness on each flight. Not only that, but I just climbed up a freaking mountain to get to campus, and, oh yeah, it's like eight in the morning. That means I had something like four hours of sleep last night.

Now. I know these are a lot of numbers for you to contemplate, Captain Enormous, but just hear me out. I get that you're in some sort of a hurry. All of your angry, not so subtle huffing gave that away already. And as you can see, I have moved as far to the right as possible so that you can pass me. So please tell me why--WHY--you feel the need to stay all of two inches behind me as we climb these treacherous stairs, literally breathing down my neck because you're so outlandishly tall. I don't really understand why you wait until like the fifth step away from the top to finally take that one little step to the left to pass by me.

The next time we run into each other on the stairs again, maybe I should just stop, roll into a little ball and press myself as close to the wall as possible. Then you can haul your gigantic skyscraping self up the stairs in two steps just like you want, yeah? Yeah.

Restless, restless, restless

I can't make anything click anymore. None of the usual remedies help; new music, old music, favorite movies, creative writing, playing my piano, shopping...it's like all of my thirst for life has bled away.

And then there's him, whom I can't stop thinking about and who may or may not be thinking about me too. Part of me wants to believe in the possibility of us, but most of me is far too afraid to look forward to anything at all. I made a mistake and I don't know if I can expect any redemption this time around. I expect failure and betrayal from most situations as it is. It's a sad truth that I can't escape. How is it exactly that an optimist becomes a born again pessimist?

It's a sad day when you finally give in to the need to blog something so angsty, yeah? Yeah. But on the other hand, writing is so very therapeutic. I need this avenue to free my restless anxieties. And despite all of these totally depressing sentiments, I have this indescribable sensation that tells me that everything is going to be fine. Better than fine, in fact. It's like that fantastic something is right around the corner and I can almost, almost see it approaching on the horizon. It's the waiting that's killing me, not to mention the shame I feel for not being able to make myself be happy with the all of the wonderful things I have right here, right now.

I'm gonna get there. I like to think that I'm not the kind to just give up because of neuropathic and emotional craziness. I can always blame the hormones, right? Right. Damn you, hormones. Damn you.

The most important quiz you will ever take.

It's a question that has been plaguing mankind for generations. But at long last, the light is dawning on this foul dilemma, and the final battle is drawing nigh... Choose wisely.

GOOD VS. EVIL UNICORNS.

Are you a Good Unicorn?

-Do you like to prance through meadows?

-Have you ever spent all day chasing butterflies and rainbows?

-Is your favorite sound a laughing brook?

-Do you believe the children are our future?

-Are the fairies your friends?

Are you an Evil Unicorn?

-Do you go around impaling teddy bears and baby seals?

-Have you ever dreamed of ruling the underworld?

-Are you still bitter you weren't invited on the ark?

-Have you ever used your hooves to bludgeon the weak and innocent?

-Do you occasionally breathe fire?

*Sadly, I did not come up with these questions myself. They were written on the box of the greatest birthday present I have ever been given. Thanks, Lizzen.