Remember when I was a senior in high school
and finally found a place I could talk about all of my thoughts and not feel judged? Remember when I was open about how I felt and never really kept things inside? Remember when I actually wrote and it was good and I gave a shit about something I loved and hopefully wanted to make money doing?
Fuck this, dude. I’m out. This blog is finito.
A day later and my wrists still reek of that Target perfume.
The back of my left wrist smells like bittersweet Taylor Swift, the front smells like musky Jennifer Aniston (I wish it didn’t), and my right wrist is still smelling like Biebs and an art project composed entirely with melted crayon.
I gotta say, between the three of these, I do find myself smelling the Taylor Swift side of my left wrist a lot more. I could smell like this all the time, if I wanted.
Which makes sense because it smells like flowers and bitterness.
I’m studying for my Grimms to Disney final
and in the Grimms’ Brothers version of Little Red Riding Hood, the mother sends Little Red Cap off to her grandmother’s house with a basket full of red wine. The red imagery is supposed to represent lust and the whole story is a warning for young girls to not talk to wolves (men with insatiable sexual appetites) and to retain their virginity.
Anyway, my roommate went home for the weekend, so I’ve been studying my notes aloud (and without pants on) and after about the twentieth time of running through the part about the mother sending her daughter off with a basket of red wine, “Red Wine” by UB40 got stuck in my head. I started to play it as I continued running through the story and I just want to say that this song should be played at every party ever because I just danced in the middle of my dorm for the whole five minutes.
Red, red wine, stay close to meeeee, don’t let me beeee alooooone
Copeland - “California”
My backbone went back to California today. I’m really sad about it.
This is my last summer vacation ever and I’m trying not to place a great amount of heavy importance on it by not letting it sink in.
I’m sad and the next couple days of finals are going to be hard and I just want to throw a temper tantrum and tell everything to just slow down.
There’s something about standing in an empty room that used to be filled with crap you considered a part of your life. You realize just how material everything is, how just because the things around you are in a certain placement, you know where you are and you know who you are.
When Haruna’s dorm room was empty and we finally consolidated all her shoes to one basket, something in me wanted to take a picture. To remember this room. To remember that there were so many nights I walked fifteen minutes to her dorm at 3 in the morning, crying about life. The number of times I sat in the middle of her floor, telling her everything that had happened to me that week as she handed me a popsicle and juice box. Playing cards. Listening to entirely too much trashy pop.
This is the place I always felt better in. This is the place I wanted to be when I was sad because I knew that soon, I’d be okay. And I wanted to remember it as it was now. As it was a part of my life. ‘Cause it’s not like I could just come back to it next semester and chat up with the new resident in the dorm room.
But then I realized a picture of the room wasn’t important. It wasn’t the room, it was the person in it. And while we were sharing time in it together, now we were temporarily going separate paths. When her car drove away, her life would continue. When I walked back to my dorm, my life would continue.
I guess that’s the weird part for me, the part that feels like a lump in my throat. This is someone I’m used to having around all the time, someone I feel about as comfortable as I do when I’m alone. And now she’s not going to be with me for the next couple months.
You pretty much already know what you need to know. You have it. That thing that you know about yourself, the real core of who you are is there. You just have to kind of keep listening to it and your life will unfold the way it’s supposed to, if you listen to yourself first.
Amy Poehler (x)
reblogged from magadocious
I went to Target and sprayed myself with every test trial version of perfume I could get my hands on.
I learned that Justin Bieber’s Someday smells like crayons/kindergarten, Taylor Swift smells like flowers with a side of bitterness—not a metaphor, you just have to smell it for yourself—and please do not ever smell Jennifer Aniston’s perfume. It is very musky.
It smells like what I imagine an Axe collection stored in a post-apocalyptic basement would smell like.
reblogged from alyea
this will be me for the next week.