THE WEATHER FORECAST TODAY IS SUNNY.
You're in for a treat.
(I do not own any of the photos unless otherwise stated. Or unless it's obvious that they're mine.)
THE GREAT DIVIDE.
Nobody knows. But I'm in love with the world.
I'm right now at the gloriously confusing age of NINETEEN.
I am still the same girl,
but with new tactics,
a new boyfriend,
a new lease on life,
and a brand new transcontinental address from where I used to live.
You are entitled to a sneak peek at what my heart looks like from the inside.
(K these photos are mine, I took them at the CNE!)
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
| Don't let me go when you can keep me. |
Cleaning, packing, sorting! I SWEAR TO GOD, the worse thing about moving to a new place is this part. Makes me want to NOT move anymore.
Look at our house. It's like ground zero of natural calamity number one. All of the rooms are upturned, clothes, blankets, and curtains are half-strewn out of boxes. It's a mess!
Tempers flare and patience runs low. My mom won't let me touch my guitar or the computer, at the very least. It's so boring.
I wish moving was like how you do it in The Sims. Or like in Harry Potter, with Accio and Depulso and Wingardium Leviosa (I'm such a freak, I know). Or like in Mary Poppins. I loo-ove Mary Poppins.
Sigh. It's raining again. And it's cold, even here inside the house. I'm in tiny shorts and socks. Talk about oxymoron. AGHHH I cannot wait to go out. I'm going out later. I can't wait. I'm craving for something and I gotta have it. Just this one last time.
Those boxes that you see right there? Those are for our clothes. I don't know if we're planning to have them shipped or something. I hope not. 'Cause then we'd have to wait a month for it to arrive in Scarborough.
UGHHHH I miss my best friends. Especially Eos, who's right there in North America already. Isn't that such a huge coincidence? I already have a friend when I move away. And not just any friend. A best friend.
SIGH. Okay. I am so bored I'm talking like a silly little prude and trying to hide the fact that I am a sexy, evil, little minx . >:) Haha, if everyone referred to me as such, I'd die a happy girl, with roses in my hands and a smile plastered on my face.
Okay. "Plaster" reminds me of Michael Jackson. You know, I don't believe he was gay and that he molested little boys. He was just chasing his childhood. And besides, he's dead, so give him a break.
I believe if I don't stop talking my head would explode and get the blue walls dirty and there will never be enough disinfectant to take it off, so I will shut up now. Good bye.
