I realize this post is lengthy,
and nobody likes lengthy posts
(its all about girth really)
but please, bare with me.
I haven't written in awhile.
I have a lot to say.

"It's not acceptable to turn in the same paper
that you turned in for your final draft
(with all the same typos and grammatical mistakes no less!)"

Is that not the shittiest critique of a paper ever?
It completely bummed me out.
I mean, I'm not a genius at writing papers.
I suck at typos and grammar, I'll give her that much.
I changed everything she wanted me to change
when she corrected my final draft.
Maybe our definitions of "final draft" are different.

I always imagined myself becoming a crazy cat lady
when I am old and brittle.
I want to sit on my rocking chair on my porch,
hold my shotgun to my chest like its the holy bible,
and scare off the neighbor's children with stories of
how I love baking cakes out of fat little children
and cackle with laughter.
I want to be the old lady that the neighborhood
warns the newcomers about.
That's my dream anyway.



She thinks she's so clever.
Boosey made her own cat door in my porch screen.
She knows she is doing something naughty.
When I'm around, she'll wait for me to open the door for her.
But if I'm not looking, she'll sneak out on her own.

She's lucky she's cute. Femme fatale?

I finally got my film back from the lab.
[If I look tired in this picture, there's a good reason for it]
When I dubbed it onto beta (so I can edit it),
majority of the film is overexposed.
This is why I'm not a film major.

On top of that
the editing program wouldn't copy my tape so I could work with it.
Damn I hate technology.
Or is it technology that hates me?
Deep thoughts...

It's been a crummy week overall.

More to come...

I'm still waiting. I'm still hopeful.
I want to be the old lady that the neighborhood
warns the newcomers about.

I want to live to see that day.