inside my igloo is a heart

Things I don't understand:
*Twin Peaks (but I love it)
*money as god
*my quickly rising and falling obsessions
*pork butt roast (this is a real thing!!! what is it aside from the punchline of a thousand jokes???)
*god as money
*Nickelback

Things I understand:
*Felicity's insecurities in college
*the lure of Walmart (cheap prices, poor treatment of employees, and customers that shop in pajamas-- all charming)
*buying a book for its pictures
*denim shirt, denim pants, denim on the brain
*breakfast
*i is for igloo nine times out of ten

the batshit craziness of finals is here and gently stroking my hair while singing nonsensical riddles in my ear

If only I could write blogs instead of 10-page papers... But that is AGAINST THE RULES and I must continue to play by these soul crushing rules if I am ever to graduate. (And then I shall go on to play a different set of rules that deal with 9-5s and corporate suits and broken copy machines-- psych. I plan on being a barista or nun or something after college. Truly. That's another post for another time, though.) Anyway, what was I saying? I can't remember. Kidding, I can completely remember because it's all I completely think about all the complete time. My paaaaper.

Sure, I've had weeks and weeks to work on this paper. Sure, I could have started it weeks and weeks ago and been much less stressed than I am right now. Sure, but then what kind of red-blooded American college student would I be? A responsible one? They don't exist. They are just a myth. Like the Loch Ness Monster or Michael Jordan.

Oh, I could go on complaining and whining and crying about my irresponsible and lazy work ethic, but what fun would that be for you the reader? Instead I will delight (and perhaps disgust! disturb! disappoint!) you with a list of facts from today:

*I got a free hat from Outdoor Recreation! I don't know why they were giving away free hats, but they were. I love my new hat and so will you. There is a picture below that you have PROBABLY already seen on Facebook/in your dreams.
*I wore my big, clunky, unfashionable, WARM and SAFE snow boots again. I remember being 21 or 22 and insisting that I wear my white cowboy boots during the winter months. I fell so many times in those boots because they were not made for anything but looking cool/stupid. Now that I am sOoOo much older, it feels good to care less about fashion and more about practicality.
*I am freezing my ass and everything else off in the newsroom. GOOD THING I HAVE MY HAT AND BOOTS TO KEEP ME WARM. And Jack.
*Not to bring up my paper again, but... Well, to bring up my paper again, I decided just a few hours ago to be insane and change the topic of it completely. I threw my old idea out with the bathwater (?) and started reading up on everything hip hop. I actually feel good about this, despite having to write the whole thing in just a few days.
*I stole some trail mix off of Jessica's desk. Jessica, if you read this, I am not talking about you. I am talking about that other Jessica from the newsroom. No worries.
*Hey, Jack, I can smell your 12 inch... SUBWAY SANDWICH, that is! It smells delightfully subby.
*This isn't news from today, but from yesterday: I received quite the positive feedback in class about my play. How could you NOT love a play that includes a psychotic Snuggle Bear? Okay, so I am thinking a couple of people, including a dude who writes really bad Westerns, actually hated my play. But whatevs. The people whose opinions I trust liked it. Maybe one day I will let you read excerpts from it, blog reader(s).

Sorry. Long. But now the moment you have all waited for/dreaded-- The uncensored picture of my uncensored and unpriced (FREE) hat:

days of derangement, nights of passion!!!

The hours that remain keep punching me in the chest and forcing my head into a toilet while flushing over and over and over again.

Basically, the deadline for my Goshert paper is getting closer and it won't stop bullying me. Drowning in my own doubts everytime I start (or even think about) a paper sure wears a girl out.

And even though everyone else is swamped by stress, I sometimes feel like the only one-- like this whole college thing is a big elaborate plan by a group of sadistic individuals posing as professors to drive me into the hollow world of hysteria.

But then I realize I just bring this senselessness on myself. I could have prevented! I could have prevented! Can I still? In all seriousness, I do not know.

this is not sad; but don't worry, not everyone is not sad

There is too much sadness inside everyone. I don't have to add to it. I want to write uplifting words! Why do I only write when I am sad? And is it bad that the one thing I "do well" is the one thing I do when I am sad? So do I subconsciously stay/make myself sad in order to produce odd, scrambled writing? Because when I am happy (or relatively so), I end up writing the way Kinkade paints cottages. What? Exactly. But it's too easy to only write when I am feeling down. There are so many holy holy holy things to unearth inside of me and transfer onto the page/blog/skin. Let me do it! Let me breathe in the golden eternity! My promise to you (and me), however, is that this golden eternity shall not include glowing highlights and saturated pastel colors. Or maybe it will! Who knows! Holy Kinkade! Holy insistent cottage coziness! Holy idyllic settings such as gardens, streams, and more stone cottages! HOLY!

i am sad, but don't worry; everyone is sad

No words come to me anymore. I feel chronically sleepy. I could stay in bed all day, just tossing the sheet up in the air and letting it slowly fall, slightly suffocating me over and over again.

I want to do things over again.

this won't make sense unless a light bulb broke and the mercury got to your head

We laugh at people falling from the sky because their landing is so soft. But our own falls are cushioned by solid oak coffee tables, cement sidewalks, and, yes, even the occasional glass ceilings.

You look at me with sad eyes, I know. And those funny lips of yours can't hide a thing.

We're in the same place; I dream of police and thieves. They are all so confident.

We're in the same place, alone; Their guns and ammunition never used, not once. They were so confident.

(Hold the cord above your head, sometimes that helps the light to work because there's a short.)

It's just a natural phenomenon. Objects with mass attract one another.

And I guess that's how my cosmos came crashing down.

Why is it that I keep imagining my brain to be made of Gak? You all remember Gak, right?

My paper is finished, but the stimulants ingested in order to help me finish my paper are still going strong. Well, not that strong, actually. I am, sadly, getting quite used to anything caffeinated. My tolerance level is at an all-time high. My ability to resist caffeine is at an all-time low. I am probably tired all the time, but do not know it because of the chemicals chemicals chemicals. But fear not, reader(s)-- this week I plan on feasting on food, not stimulants. My body, my brain, and my bloodstream need a break before they breakdown.

Speaking of breaking down, let me break it down for you. Here is completely useless information about me that is in no way necessary for you to know. So stop reading right now. Go log on to Facebook and change your status instead. It will quite honestly be time better spent.

What are the names of all the roommates I have had in my life so far?

Allison, Emily, some girl whose name I can't recall, really nice girl from Denmark whose name I also cannot recall, Ellen, Erin, Ashleigh, Laura, Hannah, Georgiana, Holly, Chaunte, Alissa, Jack, Jennifer, Greg

Why has it taken you so long to think of another useless question?

Because my brain has been sucked dry and all I can concentrate on is the sound of the clock.

Does that clock exist?

It did a second ago-- now two seconds ago-- oh, three seconds. Yes, three four five seconds six ago it seven existed. Eight.

...Seven ate nine?

Scary, don't.

Time for you to make tomorrow's lunch.

Thanks for the reminder. And tomorrow owns lunch?

Appears so.

Nothing is as it--

Oh don't start.

Fine. I am going to publish this now, man, and you can't stop me.

Why would I? You're publishing me, after all. And there's no such thing as bad press.

EXACTLY. You're saying bad press doesn't exist, right? Because you're right. Yeah, nothing exists, you know?

Hey, look-- I know nothing because I am just your blog. You create me.

I just did.