The Stomach is not a thinking organ.
It's almost time for college! And the closer it comes the more I feel like being assigned a room mate is our cultures version of arranged marriage. Really it is. I hope my room mates a lesbian, so she won't bring smelly boys to my room.
ummm another strange analogy. When I try to write a journal I act like a girl with a crush trying to write out a love letter. So many times I try to write you a glimpse into what I like to call...my life. It's all done, and spell checked twice all that’s left to do is click that little add button but then anxiety begins to storm within me. That little jaunt of the curser is unbearable as I realize how lame or childish this sounds, how it lacks the luster of the entries composed by those of you who chronicle your life more than bi yearly. I need more practice; I need to focus more on one single subject.
"Tragic” you say, sarcastically.
I know you are but what am I?
I got a raccoon skull. It's like, joy. It smells like preservatives.
So I'm sad, twas watching a movie and one of the characters said "I have three words for you!” it took all my concentration not to shout "Don't Get Eliminated"
Well..I think thats good fer six months..