Side Effects of The Hobbit

The other night everyone in my dream was speaking in an Elvish accent. For some reason I just knew that's what the accent was. It cannot be created out of the dreamstate.

On the job front

I haven't given an update about my job. And honestly there isn't much to say. I was doing nothing for so long that this kind of feels like something to just take up my time. I forget that I am even getting paid. Which makes payday a nice surprise, even if the numbers aren't ideal. I think I have fallen into a different state of nothingness and boredom because I don't often have to think or feel stressed at work. I don't think I have found my calling yet.

Merry Christmas!

 

This is what I will fall asleep to tonight.

"Three Words, Eight Letters"

Gossip Girl is over. I am officially out of shows. And sadly, I am not satisfied with the goodbye. I didn't get a romantic scene from Chuck and Blair to watch over and over again. There was only one really great song, and it only lasted for 30 seconds. Gossip Girl, I gotta say, the young Bass with the bow-tie was not enough to make up for the lackluster finale. He should have had a curly-haired sister at least.

But I still love you. On Thursday I wore a headband and my watch-locket from the Empire State Building to honor you. I didn't wake up in time to curl my hair, but I did my best without my own Dorota.

I guess it's time to start my Dawson's Creek marathons again.

waiting

While writing in school, I would sometimes physically feel this rush of inspiration, and I would know exactly what the essay should be. After putting the idea into words, I would look back at what I had just written and be amazed that it had come from me. It was too complete, nearly perfect. I had found a piece of my truth. I guess this is what I am waiting for right now. I want an epiphany to surge through me and leave me with a vision of my future so gleaming that I know it wasn't really from me.

An Epigram

Hearts break for what wasn't there, not for what was.

Sometimes I wish I were a hipster.

I listen to what would be classified as hipster music. The wool sweater that was a hand-me-down from my great aunt Dorothy is one of my favorite things in my closet. I rarely do my hair, opting for the natural look most mornings.

Yet, I am not a hipster. Not in any way really.

On Halloween, my mom took these pictures of the pumpkin I carved. Definitely not up to hipster standards--they were taken with a basic digital camera, not with film or instagram, and my posing is all off.  Not to mention the amateur carving that says very little about socially conscious issues or art.

  

 I know I am getting hipster boots for Christmas though (I picked them out with my mom on Black Friday, and she is wrapping them up).

Everything about this post just further proves that I should move on from my hipster aspirations.