I’m on a short-story-by-F.-Scott-Fitzgerald kick. They're incredible.
Now that I work every day I can't wear sweatshirts to school and that’s just really hard.
I write in cursive and am constantly teased for it. Who knew nobody actually learned cursive in third grade except for me? I feel like it’s my own personal code.
I like that if I curl my hair after I bathe I can wear it for 3 days in increasing degrees of flatness.
I like C.S. Lewis because we discuss him in both my religion class and my theoretical syntax class.
He’s a jack-of-all-trades, that one.
I’ve been going to bed at nine o’clock for the first time in twelve years trying to fight off this sickness and avoid digressing into that “superflu” that’s going around.
The Bachelor. Prettiest group of girls in years. I read her reviews every week and laugh. And laugh.
This post is a reflection of the mania going on in my cranium lately.
I think I'm going to try and write again.