I think, sometimes, dealing with your own personal tragedies (heartache, etc.) means fucking forgetting everything that has ever happened to you, good or bad. I've noticed, within the last couple of years, that my memory isn't at all what it once was. Hopefully, too, I'll forget I once knew things. I forgot what I wanted to say.

     Class schedule + TV Schedule = No Maury this fall.

:(

In other news; I think my memory is shot. My skills have a writer has significantly decreased, in my opinion only, because I fear I've lost much of the good vocabulary I've accumulated in my education. My Modern Literature Professor was speaking of 'The Waste Land' to the rest of the ( Read more... )

Pish-Posh to being well-liked. Like Little Debbie pastries hardening your arteries, constant praise stunts your ability to grow as an artist. Yes, the first bite of a Star Crunch might be heavenly, just as does the sound of "I love your work!", but too much of it can literally destroy you. Just ask Ernest Hemingway or to a lesser extent, Kurt ( Read more... )

Regret stings like rubbing alcohol on an open wound; past mistakes only to be forgotten via the twisting wrench of what had not been. Yet as I look back with a maudlin disposition, I know now that I have what I have always wanted in life ( Read more... )