I want this year to end in sunshine and perfection. Instead, I am left counting lasts: last lit mag, last lit mag snack, last movie night, last cramming all the yearbook staff in to Hattrick's office...

Only at the art school do we still think that Since You've Been Gone is a legitimate dance song.

This time tomorrow I will be finished with my senior project (minus self-assessment, which barely counts) and then maybe I can focus on being happy.

I do not have enough to words to say I'm sorry. Instead, I will say nothing.

This is the last time I will ever avoid doing final fqs till the last possible minute. Tonight is going to be a late night, but I'm not sure I care.

These last few months of senior year are bizarre. I find myself in the most odd situations and I haven't done government homework in what feels like months.

I should probs quit lit arts because according to the people in our lit arts class Maddie Whitmarsh is the best writer ever.

I used to live alone before I knew you.

"Poets and artists plot the characteristics of their epoch, and the future docilely falls in with their desires."

There are some really nice things about getting older. The most important example at this particular moment being my parents not having a problem with my arriving home at all hours of the night and then letting people sleep in my room. I really like not being alone.