an "I want that" list

http://www.etsy.com/listing/54422957/white-rabbit-watch-necklace-last-piece

http://www.etsy.com/listing/55980345/the-pinwheel-necklace-last-piece

http://www.ex-boyfriendcollection.com/shop/tshirt-d-9-p-2-The_Bird_Cage_Escape___White_Ink_Tshirt.htm

http://www.etsy.com/listing/53267508/steampunk-business-card-holder-octopus?ref=sr_gallery_8&ga_search_query=octopus&ga_search_type=category&category=accessories&ga_page=&order=&includes%5B0%5D=tags&includes%5B1%5D=title 

http://www.etsy.com/listing/56951642/octopus-necklace?ref=sr_gallery_17&ga_search_query=octopus&ga_search_type=category&category=accessories&ga_page=2&order=&includes%5B0%5D=tags&includes%5B1%5D=title

http://www.etsy.com/listing/56557135/becca-copper-tree-of-life-pendant-with?ref=sr_gallery_4&ga_search_query=tree&ga_search_type=&ga_page=7&order=&includes%5B0%5D=tags&includes%5B1%5D=title

I've become an etsy addict.

terrible nightmares

Sometimes I have these really terrible dreams, these nightmares... The most common version is that I am a football player on a team. I'm a man in this dream. We gang rape a girl on a football field in our green uniforms and it all fades into itself.

I keep having different versions of these nightmares and I wake up sick to my stomach and depressed and now they are happening almost everynight.

I'm disturbed.

Luckiest girls in the world

The night is dancing through the window as our bodies are wrapped around each other. We're wet from the shower and wet from wonderful things that happened before hand. Her head is turned away from me and she lays closest to the window. The moonlight shimmers through her dark curly hair. "We are the luckiest people on the planet." I say to her. I go through all the possibilities that could have prevented us to be together. The only reason they moved to Houston was because her mother wanted to. So basically because of a whim we're together. It's almost impossible for us to have ever known each other had anything been different. I smile softly to myself. She says something sweet back to my conscience montage. I get flustered and hide my face a little bit and my smile grows. "Why are you getting so flustered" she asks though she knows why. "How'd you know I was?" She tells me that she can tell and then even though she's turned away let's me know that she knows I'm hiding in the pillow. My expression changes. "Now you're doing that know-it-all-yet-I'm-impressed-you-knew-that-smile" My face turns to shock. And several different expressions and faces later she called out every single one. She can read my mind. Almost all the time. If she could what fun would that be? Being 100% perfect all the time would lead to no fights and no make-up sex. However I do enjoy when she reads my mind. I let out a sigh and a soft smile. "I know I'm ridiculous and I love you too." I giggle and steal a few more covers and go to sleep knowing I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Memoirs of a Misha

I want to write a memoir. I don't want to write a fiction novel, not really anyway. I feel like I'm too young to put out a memoir of my life. Twenty-one year olds have lived a pretty long time! Twenty-one years to be exact! However I found the perfect solution. I want to write a book on (like a memoir) people watching. I don't know what to call it but I know I want to do it. I'll possibly pull some old things from here to add or I won't… If I decide to do it like a journey like a year of people or something like that.

why i don't write more (lavender rain)

The words never seem to come and yet the completely encircle me. I want to write and I don't. I can't sleep. I never sleep. I sit up slowly as to not disturb the soft gentle snores coming from Ron's deep slumber. She mumbles something in her sleep and I lay back down and she wraps her arms around me. It's easier this way, with her arms wrapped around me it's honestly the quickest way for my mind to rest. Her words switch back from fret to the softest snores and breaths that lull me to sleep.

I wake up to the sounds of soft purrs near my face. I squint into the sun and faintly remember a goodbye kiss and wishes of a good day. It smells of lavender and rain as I scratch two pairs of ears causing a second purr to join the first. Our apartment is just as I like it with every single thing in it's place with a few acceptations so that it looks lived it. There is a pile art supplies on the floor in front of the T.V., Sims 3 is sitting on the table next to a pumpkin pie, and cat toys everywhere. I just cleaned up yesterday but I knew even before I finished vacuuming that I would do it all over again tomorrow. I have several stories floating in my head but I skip writing them, and skip cleaning today as well as I load my new game. Later I'll regret this but for now I lose myself in the game where my Sim gets to write and never has writers block.

It's not that I can't find something to write about. It's that I don't feel it is important enough to write. I want my stories to touch souls but plot twists, and character traits just loft lazily in my head. What's wrong with me? Who cares what other people think right? I just need to write for myself. I just need to write. I just need. I. I can't just write. I have to have a reason, a purpose, a reader, an audience.

Or maybe I just don't think I have what it takes. Whatever the reason… I can't write. A blank journal over a year old is just laying there (also out of place). The words fill my head but are they important enough to fill these pages. I'm I important enough to fill them?