Where did the white rabbit go?

Sometimes I take a long time to finish reading a book not because it’s not good, but because I don’t want to lose time I get to spend with the characters. I know, sounds silly. Like crazy writer talk. You would think dragging out the story that long would mean I would spend less time with the characters, but dragging it out like that makes me feel like I’m spending more time with them. You see, as long as I haven’t finished the book I can keep thinking about the characters and imagining what they’re going through. Once I finish the book, my time with them is done. Reading to the last page is like shutting the world where my new favorite characters reside and never being able to reach inside that black top hat again.





You don’t know how blonde I am. Yes, I am aware I have black hair, although that’s up for debate since black hair is not a Thing That Exists. For a minute I went through a hair identity crisis and thought I was classified as a brunette. Funny, the person I had this conversation with is still in New York where I left him, but in a way, he’s no longer in my life. For now. Maybe this time he’s really gone forever. Maybe not. I wish I was the one being indecisive, but this is all on him. He’s probably blissfully unaware. Oh well. Not my problem.

I think it’s more of a problem for me being blonde on the inside than to worry about someone I lost in New York. What I lost in New York I can always get it back in someone else, right? At least in theory that’s how it works I guess. I’ve been doing a lot of guessing lately. And when there’s competition thrown in the mix, I usually back out and let the other ones win. I ain’t interested in being no second or third or fourth choice. I am interested in being someone’s first choice. That’s how I do. Everyone else just needs to chillax.

I chillaxed last night. 😉 In fact, doubled up on the chillaxing. More on that later. I think.

Haha, in tenth grade I failed a world history test on something I can’t remember what because I ran out of time to do the essay portion and just wrote, “I think.” I should have ended the sentence with “therefore I am” and left it at that.

Failing is something that makes my face burn. And the word “burn” reminds me of Jenny Han. She has a book out with that in the title. Alas, I will never get to read every single book I want to read. I have so many just on YA alone. Then there are others in other genres. I could spend a whole lifetime reading every single book in existence and it wouldn’t be enough time. There is never enough time.

Life runs out like sand in an hourglass.