reading harry potter and sipping green tea, the scent of autumn wafting around me from my brand new yankee candle. i could proclaim myself the epitome of keep-your-head.



yet i can't shake off this rotten feeling that no matter what the result presented to me, i will be terribly dissatisfied with it. or come to think about it, perhaps i refuse to shove said feeling aside.

where's the kick in a wait that doesn't wreck a pirate ship's worth of nerves???

here's to the final day of absolute mental liberation

ps. good sweet jesus be kind to me for i have laboured