After every rainfall, I'm ready to write. Listening to Sweet Child of mine.
She's got eyes of the bluest skies. As if they thought of rain.
Great cover. Great lyrics. Great weather.
And a cup of Joshanda.
I'm reading Sylvia plath's The bell jar and it has this depressing strong undertone to it. I don't know if it's actually there or I only feel it because I know she later killed herself by putting her head in the oven. Who knows.
At this point in life, I'm doing a lot of things that I always wished I could do when I was younger, and that gives me hope that maybe in a few years, I'll be in a better place and be doing things that I want to right now. Patience. S1 tells me that my time will come, just like i said it to her a few months ago when she was in a completely different phase. See. Life changes. You can never tell.
I've learned that people always do what they want to do. And there's no real point in getting too involved in anyone's business. Give your opinion/advice when they ask for it and that's that.
I hate it when people insult their existence by having no sense of self and acting in this unfortunate subhuman way. It's painful to watch.
A friend lost a loved one recently and when I hugged her, she burst out crying. I looked at her face and there were actually like six tears coming out of her eyes at once. And I realised that this was grief. And I'll never forget it.
I love movie trivia. Long sharpened pencils. And orange chocolate.
And towel socks.