My Life In Color

Tom Hiddleston could read me bedtime stories every night for the rest of my life, and I would be more than happy about it.  Or he could recite poetry.  Or honestly, anything that sounds mildly intelligent and requires a vocabulary as diverse as the fish in the sea.  He could even read me directions from a cookbook, and I would gladly listen and go produce whatever it was he was saying.  Sure, I’m not that good and I would probably burn myself, but I am willing to endure it.  That is how much I enjoy the sound of his voice.

I wish you would stop doubting me.

If you read that above sentence and thought it was about you, whoever you are, you’re probably right.  Maybe you can’t read this.  Either way, it’s about you.  This appears to be a recurring theme in my life, especially recently.  I cannot count how many times that I’ve been doubted lately.  Skeptical looks, ignored perspectives, eye rolls.  Don’t think I can’t see or hear it.  In my room, on the phone, in an office.  I’m in a class that requires I pay attention to body language.  I’m generally observant.  I understand I’m not the most outgoing, or the most demanding, or the most brilliant.  However, I will speak if I feel I have to, get angry when I feel I need to, and perform well when I feel I must do so.  Be cynical if you want, who am I to stop you?  Just know that I can only deal with so much before I, too, get fed up and stop believing.  In you.  In everyone.  In myself.

So stop doubting me.

Ugh, feelings.

I just want to climb in my screen and sit on the Phantom’s overly elaborate bed and hold him like a proper mother should.  And if he’s bathed in the meantime, I’ll even stroke his hair and sing a lullaby.  (Because honestly, greasy hair just really makes me uncomfortable.)  Sure, my voice is terrible and it’d probably be insulting, but I just feel so sad for him.  And I’ll tell him stories and tuck him in at night and take him on trips to the market or sight-seeing.  Like a normal family.  (Because a nineteen year old girl taking care of a grown man is totally normal.)  People might stare, but it wouldn’t matter, because honestly, someone should just love him in the movie and it’s terribly depressing to see how it all ends.  I just want to take care of him, is that too much to ask?

Things I’ve liked on Tumblr:

• Awesome looking pictures, though those are rare.  Probably like 7%
• Harry Potter stuff - from banners to images to GIF sets to stupid comics.  Seriously, it’s probably like 33% Harry Potter junk.
• Things relating to cartoons I watch(ed).  I’ll guess like 10%.
• Really dumb, funny things that are stupid but still make my laugh.  10%.
• Things my friends post.  15%.
• The remaining 25% is probably stuff relating to comic books and specifically the Avengers.  Two months ago, I liked nothing Avengers related.  Now it makes up easily a sizable chunk of things I’ve liked.

Can you tell that I’m super duper cool?

It’s official.  Well, not really.  But I’ve finally decided what to major in and contacted someone regarding how to go about this.  Now, when people ask, I can actually answer the question, “What are you studying?”  It may not be the most prestigious or interesting answer they’ll receive, but honestly, I’m glad that part way through my education I realized that engineering would not make me happy.  I think this will.  So, let the journey begin.

Considering chopping my hair off for one reason: we have no air conditioning and I’m pretty sure it’s warmer up here, on my loft bed, than it is outside.  (I guess that’s more like two reasons, but it’s one reason that is dependent upon the other.  If we had air conditioning, it’d be nice and cool and refreshing up here where I live.)