Now I truly write.

I write to you, from my room.

In this city of mysteries. 

Eating Soy beans.

In a little black dress, which in over a turquoise thermal. 

I am shoeless with a plaid golfer hat on.

I think I look adorable.

If I did not I would be wearing something else.

I am consumed my the fact that at the moment I am not passing two classes.

Gladly and hopefully that will end this week.

I am locked in my room, due the fact my dad is moving a giant window trough the hall way.

My dad just sang along to Vampire Weekend's A-Punk, very random, I know it myself.

I don't think he ever heard the song before.

He is a 59 year old man.

A 59 year old MEXICAN man.

Yep, Swine Flu.

Nope, he does not have it.

It's Mothers Day, but I am not with my mother at the moment.

I was earlier, we went to a Dinner with my brothers and one of their families, since only one is married.

After that we, my mother and I, went to Goodwill, my favorite vintage stop, and bought this dress, hat, my future Ball Dress and so much more. 

I might say "I am a HAPPY CAMPER" but I might not.

I should be reading the saddest poetic book I have ever read aka Night.

Yet, I procrastinate. 

I am really good at doing that.

My lungs are being impressed by my dress, I should change but I won't.

I am stubborn. I am glad. I am really thirsty.