A Room of One's Own

Have you ever seen someone so hot it makes you want to jog?

I sort of like when something I own breaks because then I have an excuse to buy a new one???

Finally succeeded in getting this guy in my 400-level mythology class to talk to me. That's like basically half way to falling in love right?

So I did end up leaving the gallery and getting a new job. I miss the art and the docent tours already. I didn't realize how major a portion of my identity was attached to my position there. I suppose it's sort of bitter-sweet, because I'm also so relieved to be to free of the politics and the management there. My ex-boss did a terrific job of reminding me why I hate her, so it wasn't too hard to pack up. My first day at the new place is tomorrow. Feeling a bit nervous!

I bought a bunch of really cute balconette bras that make my breasts look /amazing/. Too bad I can't post pics because we live in a shitty patriarchy where those sorts of things are used negatively against women. But seriously though, they make me look like a chest-heaving Austen character.

September and October are always a funny time for my wardrobe. It's still insufferably hot in my part of the world, but I insist on dressing for the season. Perhaps I cling onto the hope that if I wear sweaters, it will /be/ sweater-weather.

I'm starting the fourth volume of my series of diaries. That means that there exists 720 pages of my opinions that have been recorded. To date.

I wish there was a way to tell if you are doing the right thing. Like an absolute authority you could petition. Obviously the "right thing" is impossibly subjective and cannot truly be defined-- but some guidance would be nice. I often feel that I make changes simply for the sake of them.

I think Lorde and Lana del Rey are catchy, but I really do hate their lyrics. When I listen to them I have to actively block out my comprehension of them in order to get any pleasure from the sound. 

My theater professor is a fucking babe and I'm throwing sex daggers at him every class. He is weapons-grade smoldering. I'm not even subtle about it. 

Decided not to cut my hair because it would show off my tattoo too much. 

I hadn't realized how much my taste in men had changed until I went through my old folders of male model editorials.