Completely Random... ish

People (myself included) get ridiculously caught up in the bad things that are going in their lives. But, they forget "bad" is a relative term. My life is NOT bad. It's never been bad. I may never be bad... but it probably will, someday. Sometimes I think it sucks that my life doesn't suck. Why? Because the vast majority of great literary minds have had hardships in their lives. Hardship sparks creative flames and gives conviction to emotion.

God has made me a optimist at my core. I have trouble being sadistics, but I don't have a problem being sarcastic. I have trouble holding a grudge, but I don't have trouble forgiving people. I can't think of any reason why I couldn't forgive a person.

Ah! Enough with the being introspective. I'm like freaking John Lennon (but not nearly as talented or amazing!)

The sunshine colored flowers on my desk are smiling, and should be punched in the face. I think I might like spring, but not nearly as much as I like fall, as a season. But summer is the best for memories.

My dad recently bought a house to fix up and then rent to people. It's a hellacious pit... it's going to be great. The people who previously lived in it painted the windows in their bedroom black so no one could see in. I want to take a crowbar to the floor and uncover the the meth lab that probably exists beneath the boards. Or I'm going to venture into the decrepid attic to unearth the amazing past of the family the first lived in the house over 80 years ago. Perhaps I'll just go into the basement where some teenagers thought it would be funny to spray paint "Please dont retruv" on the door to the closet... I'll be sure to not RETURN if it's as scary as they meant it to be. Painting that house will be my May project. I'm going to need something.

I think I have a weird obsession with lips... or feet... or both. God... I'm so strange.

Can I just say one thing? This is my life: I have one sibling just married, one getting divorced, a picture of a demonic clown on my closet (one of my best friends), a miniature sheep on my shelf next to fish (who is still going strong), my bed has become my desk, I bought daisies for myself at Wal-Mart, and a Santa puppet resides on my bookcase. It's complete and utter chaos all the time.

The word dragonfly is pretty.

I'm done.

Suggested reading: Something/Anything (that's not the title) by Buddy Wakefield