This past weekend was hectic.
Good, but hectic.
Sadly, I have no photographic documentation for it, so you're going to have to take my word.
On Friday I decided it would be fun to take the day off & play sample-sale-ing hookey.
Stacey, Anna, & Courtney were my accomplices.
Together we destroyed the 5-6 (?) story building and laughed and swiped and ooh-ed & ahh-ed. We then took it further and ate at Bottega Louie (where they sell cannelés at their own patisserie, by the way!) Nighttime was another story involving an automotive collision, j-walking, and paranoia...but more importantly, really damn good thai food.
The next day I attempted to study, but a lot of shit happened, so that flew out the window. It ended well though, with a Kina Grannis album release party, which was nice & unexpected.
I don't want to bore you with the rest, but that was what I did.
Our sink is clogged.
It's pretty disgusting. I want to blast it with a shotgun.
I wonder if that would do anything.
The downstairs of my apartment has become the new upstairs -- despite freezing temperatures, I have manned every corner of this apartment. This week, it's the dining table.
I wander in and out of this place like a nameless ghost.
Our LCC show is nearly here. Well, actually, it's tomorrow.
I would also like to blast it with several shotguns.
However, it's probably illegal to do so.
Other things I would like to blast: fatigue, my French T.A., my paintings, the color "fuschia" and dry flaky skin.
I need to stop having miserable, sleepless nights, because they force me to be extremely illogical and I allow myself the liberty of entitlement, which I really have no grounds of giving in the first place -- least of all to myself. (I also don't make sense). This afternoon I decided that it would be a fantastic idea to peruse Beverly Dr., because, well, I had always wanted to. Lo, I return from class, barely able to keep my eyelids folded, and I force myself to relax a little bit. As a side note, I was stopped four times. For directions on where I can find the nearest T-Mobile (from a British lady), to take a photograph for a Greek couple (in front of NorthFace, of all places?), and twice to ask if I spoke Japanese. I'm convinced that everywhere I go, people will make me uncomfortably aware that I am different. Anyway, I decided I would try on everything at Anthropologie (Beverly location, GLORIOUS!) that I liked, and I twirled and giggled in the dressing room as I donned and stripped the soft chiffons, the organic cottons, and the luxurious thread counts. The salespeople were lovely to me, making light conversation and tending to my needs. . .
I admit, it's stupid.
But sometimes I just miss being cared for.
Even if it's from a complete stranger.
Afterwards I stopped at this cute café called Jack & Jill's where I had some rosehip tea & read (tried to, at least. I kept falling asleep) . . . They closed early, so I drove around and found Crumbs Bakery. Bought a half dozen for the girls, and drove on home.
I just ate grapes & cheese & fig jam & Danish tea, and I am happy
except for the tired ache I feel.
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