As is the start of every great thing, I am beginning my blog out of procrastination and hunger.
You see, every time I start to procrastinate on a paper or studying, I start to eat. And I don't have any appealling food in my dorm right now, so maybe this will distract me.
At the moment I am trying to be distracted from a paper on a short story by Zora Neale Hurston. The story was good, the paper will probably not be.
So, lately I have been having a lot of conversations about getting old. I am eighteen years old. Which, I know is, relatively, young. But to me it feels very old. I have been on this planet for eighteen years. And I have done nothing, relatively. I have gotten through high school and landed myself in a college. I've travelled a little and talked a lot, but I haven't really made an imprint yet. Or a lasting one. Oh how very philisophical [sic] for an introduction. Please continue reading this blog and don't be offput by the lame metaphorical air. Please.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Sometimes I Feel Lame
Sometimes I feel lame. I live [part-time, college-time] in a town full of trains. The kind of town where train whistles are an acceptable measure for telling time. Its a pretty small town, with not a lot to do. Most people get drunk a lot. Sometimes they yell really odd things when they are walking by the dorms. Once in a while, they wake me up.
But its okay. I like my college enough. And I like my friends more. Although, I like the idea of college more than the actual practice of it. I am a little antsy most of the time. Even a little angsty sometimes. So, sometimes I write poems. They can be a little emo, but I do try to avoid it.
I started smoking again this weekend. It was probably a bad idea, but it gives my hands something to do. I never know what to do with my hands when I talk to people.
Today is Sunday. Sunday night. Sunday night at 10:30. I wish I could go to sleep. My dorm is about 150 degrees. My eyes are kind of burning, and I have to keep putting on chapstick so my lips don't crack. The heat is making me sleepy. But I have a paper to write. I really don't know why I chose and English major.
But its okay. I like my college enough. And I like my friends more. Although, I like the idea of college more than the actual practice of it. I am a little antsy most of the time. Even a little angsty sometimes. So, sometimes I write poems. They can be a little emo, but I do try to avoid it.
I started smoking again this weekend. It was probably a bad idea, but it gives my hands something to do. I never know what to do with my hands when I talk to people.
Today is Sunday. Sunday night. Sunday night at 10:30. I wish I could go to sleep. My dorm is about 150 degrees. My eyes are kind of burning, and I have to keep putting on chapstick so my lips don't crack. The heat is making me sleepy. But I have a paper to write. I really don't know why I chose and English major.
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