it's 4:17 am, on May 23, 2002 - nowhere.

~

I just finished writing an incredibly stupid story.

No, really, hear me out, all ye who refuse to call writing stupid. It is. Lance Bass, cosmonaut extraordinaire, finds slash. Wackiness ensues.

So yeah. Also, Lance may not go into space because he has a cold and so they had to postpone his testing. I will feel, deeply saddened, if he doesn't get to fufill his dream. I bet he won't, because I'm a pessimist, but I will feel saddened, regardless.

In other news: I was looking in the mirror today and feeling a failure, because I skipped a mythology class. One class isn't a lot, I know, but it's the road to ruin. And I didn't hand in an outline for an essay, and it's quite likely that I won't go to class tomorrow either. But maybe, maybe I will.

"They will never buy FumanSkeeto again." "Whoa." "Maybe, maybe they will. I dunno."

*

It is quarter past four in the morning. Tomorrow, I wish to go to IKEA and buy a new bookcase. Should this purchase happen, Cathy will no longer fit in my room. This is okay. We'll get around it.

I also watched about five hours of Making the Band tonight. The only thing that made this bearable was reading Pamie's recaps of the show.

IKEA is fun to say.

This is more simple, "I am breathing, I am living" journalling. Nothing profound or enlightening or washing up. Simply breathing. Which is okay, just, doesn't make for interesting words.

~

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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