oh dear god, this parachute is a knapsack

I keep thinking that maybe tomorrow will be Thanksgiving break. It has yet to happen. And I'm sort of doubting that it ever actually will.

I love art. I love it. It will kill me if this whole thing doesn't work out. I generally hate the realization that I have limits. I guess for most of... time... I've assumed that I can make pretty much anything happen if I work hard enough. But I suppose there comes a point where I might just not have what it takes. And then... I start swearing a lot.

So, haiku(s) of the day:

music has a way
of making me feel cheesy
in love, without boys.

but i wonder if
since most composers are men
their music has germs.