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I fall in love with people. I stay in love with ideas of them, figments which I grab and store so they don't dissolve.
It's still so weird that I'm here, but it feels like I should be.
I miss le Chunk.
My generation is old enough to remember the election of two popes.
I had a dream that I was in a zombie film. My hair looked really good.
I'm not knocking my religion; I just think it needs a serious overhaul in its education. It's unnecessary to grow up guilty.
Mercy and forgiveness are yours when you sincerely ask for them, not when someone commands you to because that's what's expected of you.
If you've done wrong, a sense of justice and responsibility should prompt you to make things right.
I'm flying to London tomorrow night. I am not completely packed. I am living there for four months. And I am surprisingly at ease.
Barely quarter-till and I'm already at the "fuck-it" point.
I feel so useless at this rehearsal.
Personally, my objective is to eat. I'm starved.
Whoever cast Lindsay Lohan as Liz Taylor deserves to be sat on by a flatulent walrus.
What I should be doing: Packing and reading Chekhov. What I'm actually doing: Watching Mr. Krabs kiss his first dime.
Sifting through the rubble of my train of thought. It got derailed hours ago.
Chunk was so happy to see me. I almost cried.