Running.

I hate running. I am not the running type. I like walking. Slowly. Really slowly. Incredibly slowly. You get the point, slowly. I also like cupcakes. Today my mother and I made cupcakes. Vanilla cupcakes with nuts and chocolate on top. Yummy stuff. I tried one, and it tasted like heaven smothered in chocolate. Yep. Smothered. As if I had gone mad and had decided to murder the cupcake. I also, recently, have been obsessed with trimming my bangs. Making them incredibly short, and straight. It's great. It's wonderful. I fucking fantastical. This weekend was a big weekend. I went to my brother's big art show, stood in awe at the height of where the paintings stood. I stood there filled of insight. Wondering the meaning of life, which is 42, and viewing each painting for not only what it was, but what it wasn't. I am imagined the paintings coming to life, and attacking me. I imagined the movement the artist portrayed. I imagined the lies that were hidden inside. I stood in awe. I stood in imagination. And there I met a guy. Yes, I did, but it turned out he was my brother's age, and therefore too old for me. I have such bad luck. I need good luck. I need a job too, but that is another place in which I am unlucky. I sat all day today awaiting a phone call. A phone call that never came. Here I sat. Here I sit, trying to cure writer's block.