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well hell
I just finished writing my second novel. This one came in more fits and starts than the first (that one was in one four month blurt that partially coincided with being laid off from my soul-killing job), and I have no real excuse for that. But the first draft is finished and now I feel peculiar and shaky and a little ill.
At any rate, need to format and print a copy for my mom, who always gets first read. Least I can do for her for putting up with my 6 different majors and 5 years of college for that English writing degree, right?
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(via nerdygirllove)
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I have these moments. I’ve been working on making a vocabulary that explains more about how to miss someone that you’ve never been with— it’s a similar emotion, but the word is not accurate. It’s frustrating.
(via awakemysoul16)
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I must make a shirt that says “VERB”
(via beanbird)
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Pussy-footin
(I just can’t resist a pun, now, can I?) Nothing is quite as gratifying as a purring cat on your lap.
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words
I have a definite love of the word FUCK. I’m not even sure why.
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this song
I’m an overtly emotional person. I say this because I feel everything entirely too much, and too hard, and too often. It’s more exhausting than inciting of empathy. I’m irritated too easily. I turn in hard because I can’t deal with reactions to just about anything.
I’m not very social. It’s partially from that feeling too damned much thing. I don’t make friends, real friends, all that easily, and most of the time I’m okay with that. I’m more afraid of making enemies. I call myself Pam Beasley, after something the character said once: “I hate the idea that someone out there hates me. I hate even thinking that Al-Qaida hates me.” That holds true: I suck at confrontation. I obsess over tiny wrongs I might have wrought, arguments long over, annoyances ever held.
I’d call it sensitivity, but I think it’s both more and less than that. I never really learn from it. It’s like having an extra limb that never learns to wave. Useless.
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