February 2012
moon-set:
I respect and admire Stephen King for a lot of reasons. However, I believe that I can write a better horror story than him. Forget the way he can make a reader’s gut clench over monsters, giant dogs, things with endless piebald sides—there is NO feeling as sickeningly terrifying as that of watching a glass of juice upend onto a brand-new computer.
D:!!!!
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So, remember how I was complaining yesterday? Well, turns out I have nothing to complain about. I’ve just recently noticed that I have a friend here…and that friend is a big ol’ black cat named Buster. By big, I mean he’s solid. He has little flecks of white on the back of his neck, but for the most part he completely pitch dark. He has been sneaking into my room since...
I think the homesickness is starting to kick in now. I feel really lonely. And spending time with my father isn’t going to fix it, because I can’t even tell him that I love him without wanting to cry. But he’s all I have right now.
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What have I done in Australia? The same stuff that I usually do at home. I gues that kind of takes away the mystical, magical aspect of being in a different country…but I never even felt blown away, even after I landed in Sydney about a week ago. Don’t get me wrong, the country is absolutely beautiful—mountains and trees everywhere, I even found the houses adorable!—but...
This Internet connection is ridiculously slow… Nothing will load. D:
Greetings from Australia :)
First official day of my vacation…woke up at 330am and couldn’t get back to sleep.
The 20hrs of flight time were killer. I am really not looking forward to the ride home.
So, since I am on vacation, I’m putting this on a semi-hiatus. I’ll reblog when I am able but there is really no way to post new things.
See you all in a bit :)
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“You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.”
– e. e. cummings
That moment when you finish a book, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives as though you didn’t just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a paperback.
In which extreme anxiety is wrecking me alive. I don’t have any shorts. Rather, I do have shorts but I can’t find a damn pair of them. My mother might know, because she’s a mother and mother’s know these things, but I can’t get a hold of her because she’s at the hospital with my grandfather, who may have Parkinson’s and had a mild stroke. On...
