It's hard to just sit down and write sometimes, ya know? So many things to do! I try to think of something profound to share with the world and all that pops in my head are boring every-day thoughts, regarding not the state of the union but the state of my room. Laundry to do, telemarketers that always seem to hunt me down, the Butterfinger sitting next to my computer, melting as I type (which is depressing, because it was going to be my supper). Not to sound too melodramatic - I did get the final word from the Big Country Dinner Theatre, and it looks like I have a job this summer! Although I seem to have bad luck with location - winter in Iowa and summer in Texas? Why do I let my poor thin skin suffer so? But really, I have little to complain about besides a possible sinus infection and my aforementioned pigsty of a room. My boyfriend loves me, my parents are proud of me, and my roommate and I get along great. Aww! Geez, that's another thing that's tough about writing; You sit down to write something other people might get a kick out of and you end up with a laundry list of mild irritations and "I'm so lucky" sentiments. Contradictory, perhaps. Boring, nauseating? Eh, well ya gotta hope that you can just be honest and people will accept that. No embellishments. Plain simple truth. That's the goal. I suppose that's why I'm starting with this rambling monologue. I guess I should probably tell a bit about myself.
I'm 20. I don't like cola (especially diet), Bjork, or pro-wrestling. I love tuna sandwiches, cuddling, and the ocean. I miss living near trees. I have way too many shoes. I play the saxophone, but my boyfriend plays it ten million times better, and he happens to love Bjork, so maybe I should give her a chance. My roommate is a math-education major, while I do theatre and music . . . we had never met before we shared a dorm and yet we got along so well that we decided to do it again. I am great with makeup, terrible with hair, and I work in a costume studio, making clothes for imaginary people. I ran track throughout high school, and my coach instilled in me a permanent love for jumping over stuff that's in my way. My mom survived breast cancer and my dad taught me how to make a little bit go a long way - they are both heroes of mine. I have been known to eat whole medium pizzas by myself in one sitting, and yet I am quite lanky. I try to make myself a more trusting, patient, punctual person, but I'll admit I'm still in training. And one last thing: I love being kissed on the back of my neck. It is my Achilles' heel.
Well, that's a taste. Some entries may be more or less meandering. I might rant, I might feel sorry for myself, I might sigh about the joys of life or proclaim that I've had enough. Stick around if you think you'll care, okay?