I hate deadlines; I always miss them.
I hate time; I always waste it.
I hate discontinuity; I feel lost.
I hate questions; I feel pressured.
I hate homework; it's boring.
I hate sleep deprivation; it's mind-numbing.
I can't think anymore.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
post #15
You walk in the doorway; sanctuary. The sights, sounds, smells; you're immediately calmed by your surroundings. The people are nicer, the world is brighter.
You're at Starbucks.
You step in line. Maybe you're looking at the menu, or maybe at the people sitting down, cups set aside, laptop screens casting light on their faces. You could be tapping your foot to the slow, soothing beat of the music playing.
You could could be break-dancing in utter glee. Seriously, it's Starbucks.
You finally make your way to the register, smiling at the cashier.
One tall toffee mocha frappuccino and a blueberry scone, please.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. You are handed your blueberry scone. You wait until no one's looking and take a massive, revolting bite.
Glorious.
After what feels like an eternity:
Tall toffee mocha!
Hold the cup, grab a straw, take a sip.
Your day just became a million times better.
You're at Starbucks.
You step in line. Maybe you're looking at the menu, or maybe at the people sitting down, cups set aside, laptop screens casting light on their faces. You could be tapping your foot to the slow, soothing beat of the music playing.
You could could be break-dancing in utter glee. Seriously, it's Starbucks.
You finally make your way to the register, smiling at the cashier.
One tall toffee mocha frappuccino and a blueberry scone, please.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. You are handed your blueberry scone. You wait until no one's looking and take a massive, revolting bite.
Glorious.
After what feels like an eternity:
Tall toffee mocha!
Hold the cup, grab a straw, take a sip.
Your day just became a million times better.
post #14
It's the white light filtering through my window.
It's the clear sky and the clouds, blue and white unity.
It's the birds chirping happily. Or maybe angrily, I've never known.
It's the hope for a better day.
It's the drive, the determination to make it a better day.
It's God's power, in me, and in my surroundings.
Honestly? It's mainly my alarm, blaring my favorite song.
This is why I get up in the morning.
It's the clear sky and the clouds, blue and white unity.
It's the birds chirping happily. Or maybe angrily, I've never known.
It's the hope for a better day.
It's the drive, the determination to make it a better day.
It's God's power, in me, and in my surroundings.
Honestly? It's mainly my alarm, blaring my favorite song.
This is why I get up in the morning.
post #13
Rope handles were digging into my palms, branding them with red marks.
The weight was excruciating.
My arms were sore.
The worst part? My feet.
I suppose it's what you get for choosing the cute shoes; they're always the uncomfortable ones.
I shuffled along in those evil shoes; little did I know two matching blisters were forming on each foot.
My face? Ironically, genuinely happy. Smiling wide.
The joys of shopping with friends thoroughly outweighed any sore or ache in my body.
The weight was excruciating.
My arms were sore.
The worst part? My feet.
I suppose it's what you get for choosing the cute shoes; they're always the uncomfortable ones.
I shuffled along in those evil shoes; little did I know two matching blisters were forming on each foot.
My face? Ironically, genuinely happy. Smiling wide.
The joys of shopping with friends thoroughly outweighed any sore or ache in my body.
post #12
It hits your ears first.
Waves of sound, bursting with life.
Pulsing, coursing through your veins.
It fills you up inside,
to the very brim.
Your heart is beating in sync.
You get up,
you start to dance.
Maybe you smile,
or you cry.
Maybe you scream.
Or maybe... you just sing along.
This is your favorite song, after all.
Waves of sound, bursting with life.
Pulsing, coursing through your veins.
It fills you up inside,
to the very brim.
Your heart is beating in sync.
You get up,
you start to dance.
Maybe you smile,
or you cry.
Maybe you scream.
Or maybe... you just sing along.
This is your favorite song, after all.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
post #11
Technology. I'm using it right now. I feel like our generation praises it too much. Myself included.
Today I looked out the window. I didn't even go outside. I saw the green of the trees, the red roses, birds pecking at the ground pointlessly, all from the comfort of my electrical haven. I had the sudden urge to cry. I didn't, but I felt my heart sinking to the ground as I realized how much I took God's gifts for granted. The only good things in this world: the nature, the animals; the things that don't betray, I lose sight of. Instead I hold to people, and things. I love people, but they break me. I'm fascinated by technology, but I will never find beauty in it, comfort in it.
I think I'm going to take a walk today.
Today I looked out the window. I didn't even go outside. I saw the green of the trees, the red roses, birds pecking at the ground pointlessly, all from the comfort of my electrical haven. I had the sudden urge to cry. I didn't, but I felt my heart sinking to the ground as I realized how much I took God's gifts for granted. The only good things in this world: the nature, the animals; the things that don't betray, I lose sight of. Instead I hold to people, and things. I love people, but they break me. I'm fascinated by technology, but I will never find beauty in it, comfort in it.
I think I'm going to take a walk today.
post #10
The most concealed, seemingly shallow form of expression is also the most misunderstood.
Makeup is art, for me. If I were to tell anyone this, they'd probably laugh in my face. Or just internally validate my shallowness. I know I'm not, though. I also know I'm not alone in my opinion.
I wouldn't necessarily call my obsession a hobby, but I definitely find it fun. The contouring, the highlighting, the color play; most people don't make it this complicated. And it really isn't for me, most of the time. I only wear eye makeup, after all. For most women, makeup is just a tool for beauty. It is for me as well, but I always express myself with it. I take inspiration from all around me, and transform it into something I could wear on my face. Mixing colors, adding shadows and brightness where need be; it's an art. Learning your face, your features, and finding out what looks best on them.
I probably take it more seriously than I should. I'm not planning on making it a career, so what's the use?
I don't know.
It's not for self-confidence. It's not for the compliments, either. It's just... art.
I hope my makeup isn't the first thing someone notices about me. I'm sure it isn't; I think my eyes speak for themselves.
Makeup is art, for me. If I were to tell anyone this, they'd probably laugh in my face. Or just internally validate my shallowness. I know I'm not, though. I also know I'm not alone in my opinion.
I wouldn't necessarily call my obsession a hobby, but I definitely find it fun. The contouring, the highlighting, the color play; most people don't make it this complicated. And it really isn't for me, most of the time. I only wear eye makeup, after all. For most women, makeup is just a tool for beauty. It is for me as well, but I always express myself with it. I take inspiration from all around me, and transform it into something I could wear on my face. Mixing colors, adding shadows and brightness where need be; it's an art. Learning your face, your features, and finding out what looks best on them.
I probably take it more seriously than I should. I'm not planning on making it a career, so what's the use?
I don't know.
It's not for self-confidence. It's not for the compliments, either. It's just... art.
I hope my makeup isn't the first thing someone notices about me. I'm sure it isn't; I think my eyes speak for themselves.
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