I've come to realize that women are like cigarettes: I know fuckall about both.

I think I prefer it that way, though; if I believed them when they tell me cloves make your lungs bleed, I'd have less fun watching the smoke. And likewise with the women.

My cellphone was run over the other day. I rather like having lighter pockets. It has yet to aversely effect my social life ( Read more... )

I want to move into a cheap shitty little apartment with a cat and nobody but who I explicitly let through the front door.

I want a time machine or a lifetime of three-day weekends and guilt-free twelve-hour naps.

It's not that I'm stressed, just that by all rights I should be.

We studied the subjunctive last week in German. Future tenses make me daydream, and past-tense hypotheticals just make me morose. They breed regret, I think. Context, too, and anything but the here-and-now ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

Photography makes me so fucking happy. Fuck new cameras. I need to use mine more.

<3.

( <3 <3 <3 )

I wish I had good handwriting. I'd wax poetic about having to 'break in' new Rhodia pads all important-like, as though I actually wrote this thought there. Truth is, I just buy them, crease the cover appropriately, and then buy a different size. It's a foot left of the keyboard ( Read more... )

There's something perfect about coffee shops, sunlight, & the Beatles.

Couches make it better.

( Read more... )

Sunny weather again.

More photography to come?

Eh.

( kevin & a cat. )