28 April 2013

who says dancing in your underwear ain't classy? nobody, that's who.



This is my burn box. It's not done yet, but it's what I have so far.

I'm a burner. A year ago I was burning love letters and photos and four years worth of journaling. Three years before that it was another journal and all the shitty poetry I wrote when I was twelve and thirteen (Don't lie. You know you wrote some too.).

Whenever I feel the need to permanently close a door on something, I burn it.

This box is school stuff I've accumulated over the past two years I've been here at the U. One more part time semester and it all goes up in flames. My dad said that if I put it all in a box we could drive out to the desert come August, shoot it full of holes, douse it in lighter fluid and spit on it while it burns its way to hell. I embellished what he said a little, but it's gonna happen.

April was really busy.

I tried to pretend it was going like this:














 But in reality it went much more like this: 

Can I just say that blogging is a lot more fun now that I have a webcam?















I kept my sanity by making this also a reality every day:

video

Panic! At the Disco - 'There's a Good Reason These Tables are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought of it Yet'


That little dance number was early Friday morning between writing a term paper and spending thirteen hours at work. Turns out the advantage to having zero coordination is that you can't dance wrong because all your dancing is wrong. All the dancing is equally awkward and so therefore permissible and fabulous.

So fabulous.


I need to remember to take my library books back tomorrow. Overdue fines are a bitch.

Later bros,
Irene

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