I am a walking sack of fragments
--I am in agreement that Twlight should have been no where near a) The Oscars, and b) The Oscars' tribute to horror, which seems to be confused about other things like "Well if it's "weird" it's scary right?" Edward Scissorhands was not scary, Academy Board, it was POETRY.
--After fifteen years of advocating pink eyeshadow, it is now officially IN STYLE. So say the Sephora gods. Glad to know my childhood Bladerunner and Jem and the Holograms fantasies are finally being appreciated.
--Horns finally came in the mail and I'm awkwardly courting it before completely ravishing its pages over the weekend.
--Next week, I apply for my passport, which means I can fulfill my secret desires to emulate Mina Loy and Tristan Tzara and pull stanzas out of bowlers in French cafes. Identity crisis: is that Dada or is it Steampunk? Bowlers are always drawing thin lines through trends, you know.
--Fiction writing has been served on my plate, and I'm ready to dig in.
--I think I've also maybe lost my mind a little in a Jo March Hare kind-of-way.