If the sea were made of whiskey and I was a duck, I'd swim to the bottom and never come up.

I just drove home from campus, took about twenty minutes, and I was sweating every second of it becaus it's so god damn hot here!

And then I had a bunch of jalapeños. Fuck.

Turns out the friend I wanted to live with this year isn't actually a friend but a moody, solely book-smart individual who is gaining weight and is a slave to commercial society.

There was a lot more to this entry but to be fair to her, I'll refrain from keeping it public. I'm just glad I'm moving. And even though I've lost her as a friend this year, I'm starting to realize, I don't give a flying fuck.

I think I may venture to the hills to climb it myself. I'm totally afraid of heights and something about the rock has totally repulsed my courage, but I will do it.  Going by myself probably isn't the best idea in case I fall seventy five stories to the base of the hills... but I'm not in the mood to take anyone either.

Wish me luck. I'm going to take a book.

[UPDATE]

I didn't go.