puppies and cupcakes and everything nice.

My weekend.*

*Not pictured: 
1. The cold and/or whooping cough that I've added to the deep dark pit of bronchitis-despair I've been stuck at the bottom of for the past five months.
2. My mama.
3. The shiny red heels I bought for "work and interviews" ... among other things.
4. Cheesecake. Chocolates. Ice cream. Bread pudding. Pumpkin muffin. Pumpkin bagel. Pumpkin spice latte... lattes...

Cuddling with floppy puppies {Want. No, NEED}. Shopping day cocktail hour with my mama. Downtown St. Louis {I must free the carriage-shackled horses!!}. Cupcake Wars cupcake made of pure gold {and carrots and spice and everything nice... but also REAL GOLD}. And of course, my favorite place in all of St. Louis. My aunt's house always used to make me feel like a princess. Or at least really really cultured. It must have something to do with the sweeping banister. 

Tonight I'm going to see The Lumineers!

I'll post later and let you know how it was.
But now I have to attend to the massive pile of homework I did not touch while off galavanting this weekend.

Ciao, loves.


study songs #1

For the record, this man is one of the greatest lyricists of all time

I'll fight you on this.

now i have no more excuses.

Sorry I've been away so long, guys. For the past week and a half, I've been holed up in my room ignoring my real homework and studying for the GRE.

{Disclaimer: This is not my desk. You cannot actually see my desk right now.}


And honestly, that fact is more daunting than exciting

I've been putting off even thinking about the crazy amount of work I have to do this semester, but now the I've taken the GRE, I really have nothing left to prevent me from diving right in. I know I have been pretty much MIA for months, and I hate that because I am finally starting to get back that drive to write. Unfortunately, there are some other things that will have to come first. This semester {on top of my three jobs} I need to write my thesis, create my new literary magazine, apply to grad school, apply for scholarships and look into getting a student loan.

But don't worry, I'm still going to make a little bit of time to do the fun things:

Like seeing the Lumineers play next week. {!!!!!}

And going to the Rennaissance Festival in a couple of weeks.

And watching massive amounts of Halloween movies next month {the list just keeps growing}.

And drinking way more pumpkin spice lattes than I should.

And of course, writing here. Definitely more often than I have been lately.

I missed the blogosphere. 
I missed you all.
 I need to catch up on everyone's blogs as soon as I can.

Today is going to be another busy day. But tonight, I'm watching The Neverending Story. And no one can stop me.

I'll be back soon, you guys. 
Don't give up on me just yet.


the point.

One of my favorite bloggers wrote this post a few days ago about the serious case of samsies / unoriginalities / trivialities going around in the blogosphere lately, and for some reason this really caught my attention. For someone who usually blogs about absolutely nothing of pertinence to anyone but herself, it had me wondering:

Why do I blog? What's the point of it all?

Is it just another way I can have my life validated online, such as when someone "likes" my Facebook status or retweets my latest 140-character musing? I mean, do I do this simply so other people will read it? Do I need followers and page views so I can feel like something I write actually matters? And how many questions can I write in a row before you have to suppress the urge to throttle me?

I honestly can't remember why I started blogging. Maybe because I looked up to other bloggers who write so beautifully about their lives — bloggers like Meg, who could turn a trip to the gas station into a profound, life-altering experience; or Laura, whose every post reminds me that even the little things in life should never be taken for granted; or Ashley, who I adore because, let's be honest, I just really appreciate the quirk. Or maybe because {I'll admit it} having something of my own online seemed kind of cool at the time...

But that doesn't explain why I keep writing, why I stick with it even those times when I am the only one who reads a post. I'd like to think that I don't rely on anyone to read my posts. In fact, it's probably better for a lot of people's mental health if they don't. On the other hand, I'm not going to pretend that I'm completely apathetic, either. Bloggers who tell you that they doesn't care if people read their blogs are flat-out lying. If that were true, they wouldn't have a blog. They'd have a diary.

I guess what I'm trying to say rather ineloquently is that of course I appreciate when people read my blog, but that isn't necessarily the reason I do it. 

I know there are bloggers who spill their deepest, darkest secrets and shames online. I am not one of those bloggers. If I'm being honest, I wish I were. I envy those people, the fearless ones, the ones who bare their souls and connect with the reader in ways that we superficial writers can never dream. So no, I am not one of them. But if I had to come up with the real reason I blog, it's because I recognize so many aspects of my life in the blogs of others. If one other person can read my posts and identify with me, then I suppose it's all worth it. Because I think that's kind of the point. It's not about someone being impressed by you. Instead it's about discovering the ties that connect us all to one another. It's about seeing ourselves in other people and realizing that none of us are as alone as it may sometimes seem.

So maybe I'm not profound. Maybe everything I write about is inconsequential.

Yet still, I'm as real as I can be. And I hope that's what matters.

Have a beautiful weekend, my dears.


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