(no subject)
you know when you're writing in your scrapbook, and it's 12 o'clock in the goddamn evening, and you're sweaty so you've taken your tights off, and you're just writing and writing and crossing out and scribbling in the margins and you feel that faint internal grin begin to rise in your heart, move up your throat, until it's exposed itself right through your teeth and onto your parted lips, because finally, for once, after 12+ hours of lolly-gagging, dawdling, and seinfeld-watching thumb-twiddling, you've got something. you've got the kernel of something and as the night wears on it's got to be the most exciting thing in the world, even if in the morning you're going to hate on it, pick it apart, and timidly report it to the class like nothing special ever was.
you know that feeling?
that's me. and it feels so damn good.
you know that feeling?
that's me. and it feels so damn good.