When words fail me, art doesn't.
When art fails me, words don't.
My dreams were crushed this afternoon when I didn't get to go to Jimmy Kimmel Live, and I don't want to talk about it.
I wear short shorts and I don't give a damn what you think about that. Also, I wear sports bras and sometimes you can see them through my shirt. Whores of Babylon unite.
I think I am starting that slow descent into the isolation that fall semester often puts me in. I want to do nothing but sit in a dark room with a cozy fire, curl up on the couch by myself with some wassail, read one hundred million blogs, and watch You've Got Mail while it rains buckets outside.
I'm done with the summer. Like, completely over it. I'm finished with the neverendingly hectic schedule, finished with meeting new people, and I'm done traveling. Does that sound ungrateful? Yeah, but I'm not. I'm so incredibly thankful for these experiences, I'm just ready for some structure.