Searching for housing has somehow become a philosophical task. What exactly is my ideal situation? Does the fact that I want to live alone signify that I’m unable to live with anyone else or that I’m finally growing up?
I’ve also been writing haikus (terrible ones) to the beautiful cheeks of this boy in my film theory class whose bone structure would make angels weep, I’m sure. So when I should actually be analysing Yesterday Girl or Radio On (with music by Bowie), I’m sneaking glances at this fellow’s cheekbones to make sure they’re still as beautiful.
I also woke up this morning, terrified that something had happened to my mother’s flight to Russia. I checked all the news sites I could think of and then just sat around waiting for her to call, which she finally did.

A question that I’ve been contemplating for a while:

If one had to choose between magic (and this can be any kind of magic from vampires and werewolves to alternate realities, spells, dragons, etc.) and physical pleasure, what would one choose?
I’m still on the fence.


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