T-Shirt VS. CD Debate
It is currently 22 degrees outside. Twenty. Two. According to our friends at the Weather Channel, it feels like 10. I'm going to disagree on that. It feels like 1/2 of a degree outside. Yes. I've dropped my standard 2 answer in favor of 1/2. One half seems more dramatic, more dire, more like you could die in your car.
I'm beginning to realize that the cold does something to you. It changes your eating habits, your clothes, your shoes, your drive to work. Most importantly, it makes me want to stay in one place. I don't want to move when it feels like it's 1/2 of a degree outside. I want to sit in my fuzzy pants and stuff my face with fat.
"Welcome to the real world", she said to me. Condescendingly.
It strips away all things unneeded. All thoughts not pertinent to existing in this moment are gone. Exist, only. Comfort, secondary. Until you get warm, and you've eaten, and frozen your ass off smoking a cigarette.
"Take a seat, take your life. Plot it out in black and white."
It's all gone, all that's here are strips of iced sidewalk.
I realized that I had lost what my real job is. My job is to live. Really. I decided that forever again, ago. I'm still alive, so maybe I deserve a promotion.
I never lived the dream of the prom kings, and the drama queens
He's coming. November 8th. Holy God. I am not prepared for this.
He'll be here for my third wedding anniversary.
It's ironic, really, to be faced with this choice again, three years later. But then, it isn't. Body or mind, I always must decide.
Snaps for my sly moves by his table at lunch, my flirtation from my desk in open observation.
Then I heard his laugh. It's so awful, I can't even describe it. Almost a deal breaker. Almost.
I'd like to think the best of me is still hiding up my sleeve
I emailed the John Mayer fan box.
I'm so buying copies of Seventeen and taping pictures to the inside of my locker. God. I get preteen thinking about one line:
I'll never let your head hit the bead
Without my hand behind it