By Starlight

Things I want to/ought to do:
  • Go on a whale watching tour.
  • Take a multivitamin.
  • Read something— anything— by Mark Twain.
  • Learn how to do latte art.
  • Braid my hair and have it look as cute as the stereotypical Nordic european.
  • Lose 30 lbs.
  • Finish my novel.
  • Publish something.
  • Write for The Islander (a local newspaper).

Cien años de soledad and the Buendía family tree.

RIP, Marquez. Love in the Time of Cholera was a, for me, an unexpectedly and hugely beautiful work.

(Source: bookporn, via bookporn)

“I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson (via observando)

(via bookporn)

PUBLISHED OR BUST!

I ordered a copy of the Writer’s Market 2013 guide and the Writer’s Market for Short Stories and Novels 2012 guide.

Wish me luck.

Getting Lost in Acadia in the Dark, Snow, and Ice on the Gorge Path… AGAIN.

"I just want to hike Kebo," I said at 4 pm.

"Okay," he said.

"How about we go on and do Dorr, too?" he said.

"Is it going to be hard?" I said.

"Shouldn’t be," he said.

And it wasn’t, until the sun was setting and we decided to take the Gorge Path— WHICH WE HAD DISASTROUSLY TAKEN THE YEAR BEFORE IN JANUARY— down, since it should have been quicker.

It wasn’t. There was still waist-deep snow and lots of ice. I was wearing vibrams and denim jeans, and the ice cut my ankles. I had to go on my butt down patches of ice and my pants got soaked and my palms got scraped. My feet and butt got cold and I couldn’t feel them, so I couldn’t balance, and it was very difficult to get over the rushing stream (several times) because I couldn’t stand properly on the rocks— there weren’t any trees to support me.

Also, my left Vibram came off in the snow. I couldn’t move my toes, and it was very hard to get them back on again.

Oh! And it was dark by then, too; very dark. We had only one headlamp; Ian took it and went ahead and then turned around to light my way.

And then we escaped from the darned river but wandered through the snowy hemlock forest— me crashing around because I still couldn’t balance— until finally we found a path that led us to the Park Loop Road. 

By then, it was 10:15 pm.

10:15!!!

The moral of this story is: THE GORGE PATH IS A TERRIBLE THING ALL OF THE DARNED TIME!

I hate being an adult. I hate not being able to trust anyone with my heart, soul, mind, and body. I hate the singularity and isolation of this world.

"Suite Judy Blue Eyes"— Crosby, Stills, and Nash

One of my favorite songs at the moment..

How to find a job in Chicago for the summer:

I have no clue.

Does someone magically have ties with a vegan restaurant or cafe that’s going to need summertime help? (Or anything, really.) Anyone?

druoxtheshredder:

"oh my god it’s finally empty."
"THE BED IS FINALLY MINE!!  YOU FOOLS ABANDONED THE MOST COMFORTABL-FUCK"

druoxtheshredder:

"oh my god it’s finally empty."

"THE BED IS FINALLY MINE!!  YOU FOOLS ABANDONED THE MOST COMFORTABL-FUCK"

(via the-vegan-muser)

The terrifying moment when

You (1) find a way to look at your total spending for a year last year, (2) see your total spending for the first quarter of this year, (3) realize that you are on-track to spend like $6,000 more, and (4) realize you did not make $6,000 above what you spent last year.

WHAT.
HAVE.
I.
DONE.

Applying for a Mercy for Animals internship

and then I will see about its feasibility— I.E., how I could ever possibly work 40 hours a week unpaid, live in (and pay rent in) Chicago, buy food, buy gas, pay for $450 each month of insurance and car payments, etc.

If only I were charismatic and well-loved. Then I might be able to get donations out of a GoFundMe or something. (Which I might try to do, still.)

Bruce and cake of blue.

Bruce and cake of blue.

Today is the day

Of the arrival of Bruce.


Down the hatches!
Secure the doors!
Clean the toilet!