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m&ms487
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2009 16 August :: 11.07pm
To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,
Scentless, colourless, THIS!
Will it ever be thus (who knows?)
If we wait till the close?
Tho' we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end
Sooner, later, at last,
Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:
An end locked fast,
Bent we cannot re-bend.
-Christina Rossetti "Summer is Ended"
::cut me open...::
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m&ms487
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2009 13 August :: 4.12am
Christina Rossetti=My dead poetess crush of the Victorian Era
4am= Oddly awake after five hours of sleep
Lou Dobbs= Dumb
::cut me open...::
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m&ms487
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2009 1 August :: 10.03pm
I wanna take a ride on your disco stick
Time to go to bed because I have to work at six thirty in the morning. Bah. This will be the last time, though, because I changed my availability. I will have six roommates this year and it's not fair nor is it realistic that they will be quiet after ten pm on Friday and Saturday nights. Therefore, I said I can't work until nine in the morning after this weekend.
I work the next three days and then I'm off to home for five days for a bit of a vacation which includes a shopping excursion to Valueland with my mother and grandmother and a family reunion.
I tried on most of my clothes today to figure out which ones still fit and which ones don't. Because of my illness I went from a size 16/18 to a size 6/8 in the past year. Right now I'm hovering around a 10/12, which is perfectly fine for me. However, that means that I have a ton of clothes that don't fit-old and new. Luckily, I didn't buy too many small clothes when I was really sick, so I only have a few pairs of pants that are too small; most of my clothes are way too big. I'm donating them when I go to Valueland next week.
"Now and then she appointed trysts beneath certain shrubs about the grounds, where he would find her naked, or with her clothing half torn to ribbons upon her, in the wild throes of nymphomania, her body gleaming in the slow shifting from one to another of such formally erotic attitudes and gestures as a Beardsley of the time of Petronius might have drawn. She would be wild then, in the close, breathing halfdark without walls, with her wild hair, each strand of which would seem to come alive like octopus tentacles, and her wild hands and her breathing: 'Negro! Negro! Negro!' "
-Light in August, Faulkner
1 ::watch me bleed:: |
::cut me open...::
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