iced drinks taste better in mason jars. this is an indisputable fact. can it please be summer now so i can sit on the back deck and drink this and read novels and poetry with my feet on the railing?
Old high school friend’s response to facebook update rant about having a difficult time seeing the bigger picture when I’m entrenched in academia that doesn’t immediately seem useful for “real life”:
There is no bigger picture, were getting “arts” degrees… see you at starbucks… we can split the tips… lol
I wish I had time to do NaNoWriMo.
In other news, it’s probably not a good sign when I can drink two shots of espresso and go take a nap almost immediately after.
I think I need to drop my French class. I feel like a big flake and I hate giving up on challenges, but this feels like the right choice when I am stretched so thin, financially and time/energy-wise. The last thing I want to do is run myself into the ground and not complete my final term of undergrad as well as I know I am capable of. This is a good decision, right? Right?
(sidenote: I’m really finicky about my notebooks and this one is the winner. The brand is Apica and I can only find them online now. If anyone knows of a retail store in the Portland area that sells these, PLEASE tell me! The paper is super smooth and lovely, and perfect with Sharpie pens, and it just looks elegant and professional.)
She drinks pints of coffee and writes little observations and ideas for stories with her best fountain pen on the linen-white pages of expensive notebooks. Sometimes, when it’s going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery.
- especially when it is Stumptown coffee (puts Starbucks to shame, I’m not even exaggerating) in a poppy-bright mug in my favorite coffee shop after trekking to the post office in the downpour to send my second batch of Postcrossing cards, and the toes of my flats are stained the color of storm clouds, and it’s okay that I’m wearing mostly black on my day off because it’s cold enough for my emerald peacoat and my skirt makes me feel like dancing, and everything smells like Spring and the promise of adventure, and I have an hour and a half to write in my journal and read The Book Thief before my friends’ concert at another coffee shop.
