You Make Me Feel So Young

     So I wrote this post.  It was a good post, a beautiful post even.  I even copied it into my journal.  But that's what it was, a journal entry.  I told myself when I started this blog I would try to keep my inner feelings to a minimum, let's be real, no one really wants to sit and read an extra long post about your feelings.  But what you do need to know is this:

     This week I've come to terms with the fact that I am a romantic, as much as I really don't want to admit it.

     And if you must know, this is really ironic, because two weeks ago I was giving a girl in my Brit Lit class a really hard time because she was not ok with the fact that Joyce, Eliot, and so many other early 20th century modernist poets do not have happy things in their poems.  In fact, I told her to go read Stephanie Meyer, which she replied that she loved Twilight.  She just wanted all of these poems and short stories to have a happy ending, she didn't think they were realistic without any happiness.  I honestly just laughed.  Mostly because the poets she liked the best, and found to be more "real" were the few to be on the more romantic side of modernism, meaning they made everything seem a lot better than it actually was.

• I miss Namengo. I miss that little house, and the 20 other souls that lived there too.
• I finally found a Pandora station to fit my mood. Thank you Judy Garland and friends.
• The next two months are gonna be killer.
• I can't wait to go home this weekend.
• I've been watching Disney Channel Halloween episodes on YouTube. Best waste of time ever.