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aruan8 Mile was good. It left me feeling satisfied in a way that I haven't been after a movie since mum and I caught Se7en during a 2 a.m. rerun on USA. And those two deserve to be in the same sentence. He did good, that Marshall Mathers kid - say what you will but he's got talent hard and real.
At least part of why I liked it is that I'm waiting for my own life to begin. College is good and my professors are cool and education, yay! but you know, some nights, I want to come home to my *own* place where *I* pay the rent with money that *I* make at a job *I* earned not just playing at living life anymore. And I know it's not as glamorous as all that and enjoy what you've got while you still have it but I'm so ready for more. Or maybe just different. I think Erika is so incredibly brave for what she's doing right now, and wish that I had the same courage to just admit that I need something else right now and take some time off from the school trip. Do something life-altering, meaningful, maybe just streetwise educational but more than sitting in a classroom reading sanitized books and doing the same mostly-asinine things I've been doing since the age of five. I want to pack up all the shit I'd need in my car and drive somewhere else, where it's cold enough to see your breath in the air for more than a single lucky night brought to us by the good folks up in the Yukon and living on cruise control just won't cut it anymore.
Nothing quite like satisfying a craving. Tonight, I knew exactly what I wanted and where, and luckily it wasn't filet mignon at Emeril's. Very college student budget-friendly Cajun Chicken Sandwich at Chili's. Miranda was just as amused by the "addiction" baby back ribs commercial as I. Have I mentioned lately that she rocketh to the utmostest? Sick and congested and she *still* duets obligingly.
Starbucks Gingerbread Lattes are back for the season and that combined with all the Christmas decoration schlock and occasional ballad on regular radio's the holidays for me. Though the lovely Barista gent made idle threats about not cutting off my supply if I didn't get back up and repeat that bit of Pop choreography I felt compelled to indulge in a fit of gleeful whimsy.
I might actually be writing. The epilogue to an epic but fuck it, writing that I don't want to delete for fear that reading back over it again will induce nausea from its hyperglycemic effects.
At least part of why I liked it is that I'm waiting for my own life to begin. College is good and my professors are cool and education, yay! but you know, some nights, I want to come home to my *own* place where *I* pay the rent with money that *I* make at a job *I* earned not just playing at living life anymore. And I know it's not as glamorous as all that and enjoy what you've got while you still have it but I'm so ready for more. Or maybe just different. I think Erika is so incredibly brave for what she's doing right now, and wish that I had the same courage to just admit that I need something else right now and take some time off from the school trip. Do something life-altering, meaningful, maybe just streetwise educational but more than sitting in a classroom reading sanitized books and doing the same mostly-asinine things I've been doing since the age of five. I want to pack up all the shit I'd need in my car and drive somewhere else, where it's cold enough to see your breath in the air for more than a single lucky night brought to us by the good folks up in the Yukon and living on cruise control just won't cut it anymore.
Nothing quite like satisfying a craving. Tonight, I knew exactly what I wanted and where, and luckily it wasn't filet mignon at Emeril's. Very college student budget-friendly Cajun Chicken Sandwich at Chili's. Miranda was just as amused by the "addiction" baby back ribs commercial as I. Have I mentioned lately that she rocketh to the utmostest? Sick and congested and she *still* duets obligingly.
Starbucks Gingerbread Lattes are back for the season and that combined with all the Christmas decoration schlock and occasional ballad on regular radio's the holidays for me. Though the lovely Barista gent made idle threats about not cutting off my supply if I didn't get back up and repeat that bit of Pop choreography I felt compelled to indulge in a fit of gleeful whimsy.
I might actually be writing. The epilogue to an epic but fuck it, writing that I don't want to delete for fear that reading back over it again will induce nausea from its hyperglycemic effects.
