Call me Mr. Flintstone

I suppose that when your blog sits idle for so long that you get spam comments in foreign languages, it's time to update. I suppose it also helps that the office is dead because everyone is in Miami, and when you're an intern, you don't get to follow along.
Sometimes it's easy to forget that the people you love the most are beautiful. You know it in the back of your head and in your heart, but it's not in the forefront of your mind. And then something as simple--and, in the grand scheme of things, technologically silly--as a Facebook message reminds you how wonderful someone is. Someone pours their thoughts out, and you realize, oh yeah--they are absolutely beautiful.
I'm realizing that lately I've forsaken things that bring me joy for things that don't matter. Forsaken is a strong word, but I'm referring to the fact that I zone out to crap TV instead of reading. I play on my iPhone instead of going for a run on the beach. And then I have moments where I walk by the cliffs, watch the sunset, and realize I'm still working out who I am. It's so easy to settle into a routine--and for now, that's okay--but I can't keep forgetting to pursue things that make me ultimately me. Some of those things are still up in the air (and winners of Golden Globes), but it's the seeking that is important.
I feel like this is starting to get too reflective and esoteric, so let me just end here.

Cake Mix

Aaaand here I am promoting someone else's blog again:
Cake Wrecks

We have the good:



The bad:



and the ugly/weird/deer in hell:




I went through EVERY post last night instead of sleeping.

It was totally worth it.

Professor Snoodgood

I haven't updated in a while, I know.
School has been busy, and when I have down time, I like to zone out in a book or play Snood on the computer.
Which reminds me, I think Snood causes hallucinations because I see Snoods in front of my eyes when I blink or look in certain directions. Probably not okay.
One of those "isn't life funny" things:
When I try to write "slut" in a text message (of course, I'm not actually using this word in a text. I'm just, uh...remembering how to spell it. Yeah. I would never use language derogatory to women.)
my T9 spells "plut" and then recommends the word "plutocracy."
I feel like there's irony in there somewhere. Maybe something about rich sluts, I don't know.
My first issue of the newspaper came out yesterday morning.
It's pretty scary, realizing I have hard evidence of my status as editor-in-chief. I can't hide now. It's my paper and I have to take responsibility for the good and the bad. And the ugly typos that still get through the editing process.
Anyway, that's all I have to say.

Clever title

I sometimes forget how hard it is for me to be vulnerable.

Today I had a reminder, when I felt like I was prying open my chest, and I was uncomfortably aware of how everything inside it ached and burned and prayed not to be stabbed.
I know it's not easy for anyone, but why is it really hard for me?
It's good, healthy, blah etc blah, to talk about feelings and address issues, but sometimes I can't and don't want to.

I'm starting to feel again, and it's strange and uncomfortable.

Dinosaur Tales

I'm a fan of this music video:




Also, I'm Ray Bradbury's lost soulmate.
I just discovered:
"But as for now I accept the fact, and proclaim it quietly, that without dinosaurs my life would have been nothing at all. Dinosaurs started me on the track to becoming a writer."

13 Going on 21.

Turning 21 isn't really that exciting, save for it makes me sound older than 20.
It's true, though, isn't it? 21 sounds so much older than 20. Turning 22 will sound even older.
My "big night" consisted of dinner with my mom and dad, followed by another Prison Break marathon. But not before we all had an argument that turned into a let's-talk-about-our-feelings, why-don't-you-tell-us-how-you-feel, you-know-you-can-always-talk-to-us-about-anything conversation. (Hi, mom. Yes, I know you read this.)
It feels weird that it's summer, because after Oxford ended and I traveled the globe, trying to slowly make my way home, it felt like it was time to go back to school. In fact, I would have willingly gone back if it meant finishing college earlier. Instead I have a whole summer in front of me, when all I want to do is get senior year over with.
After being in Oxford, I feel really unproductive if I'm not writing a paper or reading for a gazillion hours a day or walking half an hour just to listen to some boring lecture on the British economy and then walking half an hour to get back home. Sitting in the jacuzzi at home makes me feel brain dead compared to what I was doing this past semester. I'm trying to tell myself that what I'm doing and where I'm at right now is acceptable, but it's a strange adjustment. No one's expecting excellence from me in the categories of secretarial work or sunbathing.
I think I'm coming out of the transitory phase of being abroad to being home right now. I didn't enter the phase until I was in New York, 3ish weeks after actually leaving Oxford, and then one day, WABOOSH, I'm crying into my pillow WAH WAH WAH I MISS MY FRIENDS I MISS MY ROOMMATES I MISS LIBRARIES AND SCONES.
I still miss scones, and I still miss the people I became close to, but it's fading more lately.
I have realized I'm still angry about some things I thought I was almost over, and I'm almost over some things I thought I was angry about.

FEELINGS. I'm talking about my FEEEEELINGS. Is everyone proud?
Thank you.

edit: There's no way for me to mention Oxford without feeling or sounding pretentious, so I'm pretending to ignore the fact that it bothers me.