"I can do some good here." -Chaplin

PARIS in the springtime. Ballet flats with jeans. Lipstick. Sunny
noses. Apertifs.
Crippling insecurity, which I hope is due to my oncoming period. These
days are so good at making you ugly and needy and like you're being
leftout of life.
The Mysterious Benedict Society.
Catsitting for a week. Netflix, alright!
Making weird into good (I hope! becasue I don't like weird. Ever.) It
only takes cinnamon hearts.
No nailpolish for a week. I like my naked nails.
Ukulele. The only song I know is "Hard Times Come Again No More".
Discovering that I sing.
Majorly inconveiniant, super annoying, tunnel visioned, crushes on
guys who are slow or blind or not into it but won't say so. See me
already.
Weird, weird, food.
Sherlock Holmes.
Flappers.
Meetings about Oak Trees.
This feeling of urgency to put it out there. Go and be wise. Do and
Make. Laziness. I can do it tomorrow.
Two brains always at war.
Being too old for shows where there isn't a working toilet.
Feeling ok naked.
Learning to sew and finish and iron all my seams.