I am become the Sun. And I burn.
Fear my warmth. Feel my joy.
Indeed, sun kills, but then all men die. Not all men truly live. Better indeed to live on my feet, baked by sun than to die on my knees, cloistered in obscurity.
Fear also my culinary skill. I am eating roast beef and ranch dressing (newman's own, natch) on a poppy seed roll, JUST BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT. And you know what; it's not bad. Maybe I can sell this to Arby's.
SEE NEMO YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN ROKC TEH CAPS@#$!@!!!~!!
I feel like taking a baseball bat to some stuff.
You're damned if you a) do or b) don't?
In other news, it looks like I've got myself into something of a quandary. My goal was to be back at school by now, but that never materialised (probably because I was waiting for it to just 'happen'; to materialise out of thin air). My mother's talking about moving out of here in November, which leaves me two months to find somewhere. The question is, do I want to buy a co-op I may have trouble renting out when I go back to school? Do I want to sign on to a lease and rent out a studio, when I may very well not be living there for an entire year? Or do I want to get roommates and then try and share a living space with other people, which I am notoriously bad at (dealing with other people)?
In this case, I think I am fucked if I don't. So then it is time to do.