At 23 & 1/2

I own real furniture. Not just those cheap bookshelves from Big Lots.

Because I can't wake up on time, I have to shower at night.

I have 17 pairs of boots and an entire drawer designated for tights and leggings.

Sometimes I think I'm smarter than I give myself credit for.

I have to jump to get on my bed. And I'd really like for someone to explain to me why making one's bed became such a standard practice. I think it's a pointless chore.

I'd like to wear hats more.

Jellyfish are still my favorite animal.

Lately, people haven't been hearing the sarcasm in my voice...and I haven't really been correcting them.

I've always known that the real struggle would be figuring out what I really wanted to do with my life, not in the achieving it part. I'm still on step one.

The last three episodes of Dawson's Creek are just waiting for me to watch them, but I can't seem to do it. It's too soon to say goodbye or goodnight. Plus I need to prepare myself for the exorbitant amount of tears that will flood my face.

Nothing sounds better than picking up everything and traveling anywhere and everywhere for a year. I can't decide if that would be a voyage of self discovery or if it'd be plain running away.

I'm in the middle of reading Anna Karenina.

I wish that I could call myself an artist.