You know, I can’t quite decide if I’m in love with Stacy’s Baked Cinnamon Sugar Pita Chips, or not. I eat them every single day at Quizno’s, it seems, so you’d think I love them (I’m eating them right now and haven’t even been to the Student Center in days). But, I can’t help but think they could be better.
Basically, I think they need to have three times as much cinnamon and sugar, much like how I like a little French toast with my powdered sugar. I’m having chocolate withdrawals. I haven’t had any since yesterday at Dairy Queen, the infamous Oreo Brownie Earthquake, as I told a fellow elevator-rider whilst fudge most likely adorned my lips.
Basically, I’m writing this and eating chips and checking Facebook instead of studying more for my French test. Granted, I was on here doing my honors (talk about making chips better, let’s make doctors better and automate their diagnoses). But I have no excuse now not to return back and hit the books. But, you see, I’m afraid that if I do that, I’ll just never get out of bed (j’aime etudier francais dans mon lit, and if that’s incorrect than that clearly shows you that I shouldn’t be here now—I just Google translated what I wrote and it said I was right; I trust artificial intelligence). This whole Lexapro-hasn’t-kicked-in-yet clearly means I’d much rather just lay in bed all day with my eyes closed, not even sleeping, as I seem to have done during my “hours” of “French-studying” earlier.
Today, however, my short attention span may be due to the lack of sleep. You see, yesterday, after a completed stats assignment, one blog, the munchies, and much procrastination later, I indulged in a spirit-lacking zombie walk (where the well-fed zombie couple ahead of me kept glancing back every time I growled brains as if I were the one not acting appropriately), cleaned off my smeared black and purple eyeshadow and dried blood in the shower (period blood would’ve been cheaper and more realistic, but I’m taking birth control and I guess two bucks isn’t a bad deal), transformed into sex-icon Cherie Currie (although instead of an actual corset, a beautifully drawn one on a t-shirt, though I did still manage the fishnets) and went to a party with Joan Jett and Hipster Hitler (hey! We all took part in alliteration nation!) where you can’t be closer to anyone than you already are. It’s practically winter and I’m in fishnets and going outside for long bouts of time felt comfortable. In other words, I stayed up late, my body woke up early, and then I went to church with my grandma. I needed a nap. Just maybe not a three hour long one.
It’s amazing who we end up friends with sometimes. I guess not to everyone. But from my experiences…For instance, I added a majority of my class before I arrived at the Honors College. I would browse, or “creep” if you prefer, some of their profiles and try to determine who I should try to befriend when I arrived. This was a new beginning, no one would know me; I could be whoever I wanted. But I, indeed, had to make friends. I scare people off by saying too much via technology, and too little in person (when I don’t know them). I am indeed good friends with one of my old roommates like I thought I’d be, but for instance, there were a couple of girls who seemed pretty cool, I even messaged them a bit—they’re both friends now, and I even live with one of them this year due to mentor room assignments. But I’m really not friends with either one of them. I like them and all. But, for instance, there are people who’s profiles I vaguely remember creeping and not thinking too much of it, and now they’re some of my good friends. It’s just a surprise, you know, who you end up close to sometimes. Sometimes it’s out of nowhere. I guess you can’t judge a book by it’s cover, a person by their profile, or fate by what you think should happen.
I accidentally interrupt people a lot. It’s right when we both start talking after a silence. And usually if I don’t go ahead and say it I’ll forget. But usually what I have to say is pointless. I need to be trained to just stop.
I wish I would talk about something that matters. I guess this is just a diary that’s not afraid to be opened. Hopefully that’ll change soon.
Did you know?
“Stories of zombies originated in the West African spiritual belief system of voodoo, which told of the people being controlled as laborers by a powerful wizard.”
Well, Wikipedia knew. And I believe in Wikipedia.
So, lots of people find great videos and links to post to their blogs. I just challenged myself to find one in under a minute.
This, my friends, is the glorious thing that I’m capable of finding for you. (Do I hear a TT #reasonswhyIshouldnthaveablog ?)
But I'll tell you, it's not Stonehenge. Happy Halloween.
Je pense que je vais aller etudier en francais maintenant. Dans mon lit avec une orange et rouge couverture.
Bonsoir.
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