And sue me. Seriously.

I haven’t written here in forever… I think I have been too busy growing up. Well. Trying to grow up, anyway. I just saw the comments for my last post (HOLY FUCK SOMEBODY ACTUALLY READS THIS?!) And wanted to say; 1) It has been hot as hell here, too. 2) I was cool with the Beatles but Across the Universe sealed the deal for me. 3) <3

I found these notebooks at TJMax and Marshalls that I think every good writer ought to have. I will post pictures eventually, for the moment though, suffice it to say that I literally bought all they had. Why? $5.99. Seriously.

Big ass notebook. Big ass metal spiral binding. Thick pages that can handle any kind of ink. Sturdy covers. Faux suede back cover. (HEY, IT COUNTS AS A PERK). And. Get this.

On the inside of the back cover, there are these two hidden pockets that house matching envelopes. Srsly. A must have.

I don’t write letters but as soon as I saw them, I wanted to buy all of them and mail a stack to Sara. This brings me to my next fairly random point-

I have a phobia.

I’m not sure what exactly one would call it but I am literally afraid to write in these notebooks. I am completely in love with them. I want them to be the pages I use to write my most amazing thoughts in but I am terrified of spoiling them with something mediocre. So I keep them around. Blank and Empty. I keep them in plain sight and fantasize about all of the amazing things I will write in them one day.

Beyond that, I’ve been telling people that I work at a Toy Store and let me tell you- it rocks some days and it blows some days. I think all jobs are like that. Mine isn’t any different.

I don’t know. I need to take more pictures.

I stopped for a long time because most… well, who am I kidding. ALL of my pictures are self-portraits and for a while there, I was pretty convinced that in cutting all of my hair off I made a horrible mistake so I avoided it like the plague. Right now, I am trying to grow it back out but I get caught because I HATE the “in between” stage of almost long but mostly short. Either way.. recently, I’ve been experiencing a natural phenomenon. Or however you spell it.

Imagine this.

You wake up. You do your morning routine, you’re all ready to go. You stop by the mirror for one last check, just to make sure you don’t have boogers or zits or whatever the hell it is we women really check when we check ourselves out.

And you stop yourself dead in your tracks.

Because for the first time in a long time; you look pretty.

You look so pretty, you *feel* pretty. It has officially crossed over the sensual barrier. Your eyes are releasing endorphines. Sure, it doesn’t work like that.. but it does today.

Now imagine that. With an increased frequency.

I feel grown up. Because I feel like I look like a woman. I can’t describe what, exactly, looks different about me. Maybe it is just the opposite.. maybe I just feel grown up and that feeling is making me think I look different.

Whatever it is, I have to tell you that it feels pretty sweet.

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