Nothing whatever.

I just need to record thoughts here. Expect nothing.

My artist friend decided to sketch me because he "needed new subjects." His picture looked prettier than what I see in the mirror.

I tried to quit Dr. Pepper. "Resistance was futile." - quote: the thirty-two ounce sitting next to me.

My friends made me leave before I could give that boy my number. Now I'll never find out if we were musically compatible.

Someone please explain why this is so sexy. IT'S A LUNG CANCER STICK that I'm unreasonably attracted to when it's between Benedict Cumberbatch's lips. AM I A PRODUCT OF BIG TOBACCO??

I really, really like the 50's. I sometimes wish I was born back then, but then I remember the whole widespread misogyny thing and that 2014 isn't too bad.

Writing has gotten a lot easier since I started this class. I don't know what it is about acknowledging the writer inside me, but the more I let it out, the better it gets.

It makes me really happy when I get a comment. I'm a blog junkie, and I spend more time refreshing my stats page than anything else on my phone. I know this blog should be about me, but I like knowing that people like my writing. That's only human, right?

I've discovered that this is what I love. At this point, I feel like writing is necessary to my survival. If I don't write, I think I might explode from all the underutilized words coursing through my brain.

I don't like country music. No offense to all those fans out there, but when I listen to it, all I hear is "my dog and my truck and my acoustic guitar and my pretty little honey. Listen to my accent and imagine me riding a horse into the sunset with a red solo cup in my hand."

A (shortened) list of places I want to go someday: Rome, Florence, Venice, Paris, EuroDisney, Brussels, Amsterdam (thank you John Green), New York City, DC, Philadelphia, London, Cardiff (really just Wales in general), all the Scottish castles (there are many), Madrid, Normandy, and Tokyo. I could go on for years. I wish it were possible to do the Amtrak Residency.

I write little notes in various binders, loose pages, sticky notes, etc. of lines to build around, such as this one:

The trash can is more full of poetry than my head.

I never really know what I'll use them for. They just end up everywhere. A seemingly endless supply of one-liners all over my possessions.

The best hashtag is #hashtag.

The poems for AP Lit are all ridiculously hard this term. I'm avoiding my analysis by writing this.

I don't like bacon. My dad doesn't seem to understand that people don't like what they don't like and that they can't really change their tastes. He doesn't like tomatoes and  I don't call him weird for that.

Today a lady told me I should be wearing a coat. I almost had to physically hold my tongue to keep from telling her that the cold never bothered me anyway.

I don't usually swear, not so much for morality reasons, but because when I do swear it carries so much more weight. With other people it's like, "whatever, she swears every other word." When I swear, people listen.

It amuses me to see the literal everyone unceremoniously picking wedgies after going down waterslides. I know that I do it, too, though. So, whatever.

I hope I don't end up having to room with a crazy, since I'm taking my chances with a roommate. There are too many horror stories and I don't want to have to add one to the list.

That's about all I have to say for now. Thanks for reading, I suppose.