the safety felt in being able to cut off your plastic bumper with a cop's pocket knife
I bite my nails incessantly when I'm alone. I feel like I need to put gloves on to stop myself. Between one of my biting sessions, I noticed that my hands themselves are nice and moisturized, but the spaces between my fingers were dry and flaky. It's 22 degrees out, which makes smoking a cigarette punishment for my right hand. Smoking in winter was my first step to trying ambidexterity.
I got in my first car accident last week. Dropped off a friend from class because he reminded me of the pains of being a pedestrian during Flagstaff winters. I wasn't familiar with the road I was on, the corner light was out, and I missed a stop sign. That sweet sound of crunching metal -- makes you wish somebody ended up bleeding. Fortunately, no. Vehicular homicide has yet to be on my record. However, I do have to show up in court on my friggin' birthday to deal with my ticket, even though the stop sign should've been painted in glowing neon on a road like that.
It's past midnight and I've got roughly 8 personal essays to critique and one of my own to make flawless for class tomorrow. It's already quite flawed as it is, in that I'm using a creative piece I wrote in high school. I just need to flesh it out and mature it a bit. I still wish the first narrative I turned in for this class was something... more.. edgy? I don't know. It's just a family-friendly story that reflects a past period in my writing. That'll do, though.
If I don't make it to the store tomorrow, it's a dinner of Spongebob macaroni & cheese for me. He's about all that's left in my cupboard, besides the mango tea and wheat thins.
I got in my first car accident last week. Dropped off a friend from class because he reminded me of the pains of being a pedestrian during Flagstaff winters. I wasn't familiar with the road I was on, the corner light was out, and I missed a stop sign. That sweet sound of crunching metal -- makes you wish somebody ended up bleeding. Fortunately, no. Vehicular homicide has yet to be on my record. However, I do have to show up in court on my friggin' birthday to deal with my ticket, even though the stop sign should've been painted in glowing neon on a road like that.
It's past midnight and I've got roughly 8 personal essays to critique and one of my own to make flawless for class tomorrow. It's already quite flawed as it is, in that I'm using a creative piece I wrote in high school. I just need to flesh it out and mature it a bit. I still wish the first narrative I turned in for this class was something... more.. edgy? I don't know. It's just a family-friendly story that reflects a past period in my writing. That'll do, though.
If I don't make it to the store tomorrow, it's a dinner of Spongebob macaroni & cheese for me. He's about all that's left in my cupboard, besides the mango tea and wheat thins.