laura0303:

flickflickflicker:

oldfilmsflicker:paperspine:intelligentlyscrewed:andfinishedknowingthen:
(via nosleeptilhome)

story of my life this actual second. No joke.

(via blogsecret)

I really hate this class. It’s a roundtable workshop where we write a personal essay, turn it in, and have it critiqued by the whole class. I’m usually okay with this, but the kids in the class bother me so badly with their inane essays and selfish comments.  They write about things like scheming bitches or their idea of mustaches; it’s pointless. Is this what you really go on thinking about all day?  The I try to write something deep and meaningful- my depressing in high school, growing up with a disabled sister- and they cut it down with comments about it sounding too emotional or that my metaphor of using the Titanic and the Carpathia to illustrate my struggles is cliche and mundane, even though I explain within the essay that I have been obsessed with these ships since I was a little girl and they have meaning to me.  I don’t get how they can write such drabble about bullshit like accents or getting a tattoo or breasts and then say mine is cliche and not personal enough.  I don’t want to write for this class anymore because I don’t want to hear their critiques.  They mean nothing to me. I have more important things in my life to worry about than what they think.

I have to go write an essay for this class now; excuse me while I go vomit.

starsthatshine:

WANT

WOODCHUCK: it’s five o’clock somewhere right?

I’ve started to realize I’m regressing and dressing a lot like I did back in my senior year of high school.  It might just be the hello kitty choker, but I dunno.  Not sure if this a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s 65 degrees out so Fiona and I are going to go get a case of Woodchuck and chill on the front porch all afternoon.