I stayed up all night last night, mostly just talking. I thought about working on my paper that's due tomorrow at 4:30 but I didn't even pull up the word doc. it's saved on, so I'll be doing that tonight. I should probably make some coffee.
This is a really strange way to write. I'm just putting down my thoughts and they really aren't worth anything but Kirk and Allen and Sagan can read them. Unlike when I write in my journal, and my Love reads it eventually but probably months to a year after the fact.
I gave my brother a massage, and now my hands hurt.
I got the dress that I ordered from Macy's. I'm wearing it right now, with the tag still dangling down my back. I think it's prettier on me than it is on her, but that's just cause I'm vain.
I hated fiction writing today. As much as I adore my friends and writing notes I just cannot stomach peadophilia.
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