Lisez et lisez...

Hopes and dreams are non-living things that die, but I have to believe that I could bring my dead wishes and reverie back to life, light them with crazy fire that will never cease to burn... even if it accidentally caught my friggin' hair. Well, I don't think I would mind having my hair singed, if that is the price to pay.




I wish I could do something about it though, my personality and negativity. Glass half-empty, glass half-full, smash the damn glass, drink the contents... oooh wtf vodka. Cranberry.

Sniggers. Sniggers.

Oh, I love that photo I took. I was reserving it for Valentine's but I kinda forgot to write a blogpost. Running a photoblog without a decent camera is starting to get the best of me. My stock photos won't last forever, and I can't always rely on editing tools to fix the shitty shots. Oh god what do I do...

I'd been reading Harry Potter backwards by the way. I bought Shadowland (first book of the Mediator series by Meg Cabot) weeks ago but I still haven't got to the point where I would furiously rape the pages, devouring every word the author had written. I don't know why I can't get past the palm trees and the leather jacket the main character was wearing. It should only take me a day or less to read it, judging by the thickness. But then again there are still numbers of unread books in my boxes and cabinets. Hmm.

And here I am wondering what to read next.

I've been trying to read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, too. Actually I have copies of its sequels: The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. Written by Stieg Larsson. I finished the prologue in a zip, but I don't fucking know why I put it down. All I can remember is pressed flowers, pressed flowers. (Oh hey, I haven't seen the movie yet.) 43 frames of pressed flowers? 44? Bah.

I'd never been like this, usually when I open a book, I never put it down without turning the last page. I finished The Hunger Games in a jiffy, too. Because I didn't have all day and Nel's sister will be returning home. In my school, teachers dub me as their resident bookworm. Ahhh I don't know why I just typed that.

Shutting up, shutting up.