thereshewrites
When I was younger, I tried to dye my hair an auburn color. I thought, "why not be up for a change?" Boy, was I wrong. My room mate had switched the labels (Happy April Fools Day) with a pink dye bottle, and my hair was the color of cotton candy for three months. Talk about having a hard time at work.
Once I ran into this old man on the street. I mean, SMACK! straight into him. He was mumbling something about a trash can on 33rd and Smith but I couldn't figure out what he was talking about so I just kept walking. It's funny, because when I got to 33rd and Smith, there was no trash can at all, just a strange-looking box that flashed into my eyes and then-- trash can... 33rd and smith... i thought... trash... thought it was.... trash can.... smith... trash can...
He came into the candlelit church, got down on his knees in front of the altar, and began to pray. He needed this. He needed it more than anything else in the world. He had never been one to look to a lord or anything of the sort to solve his problems, but right now he could think of nothing else to help.
The blank page was white and simple from afar. But if one dares to get closer, stitches and patches become visible. Specks of dust or ink blotches come out to the eyes, and suddenly an object so plain and flawless becomes one full of history, fault, and confusion.
An adviser's like a counselor, right? I'm going to see a counselor soon for emotional reasons. Wait I think it's more like an assistant. An adviser, that is. I don't know. Here's some advice: think of puppies all day long and you'll never be sad.
I learned from the last time I wrote that a turbine is like a windmill. I like windmills; they're usually in pictures of big open fields. I'd like to live in a big open field. Or at least spend a lot of time in one. It reminds me of the Dixie Chicks song, Wide Open Spaces. I don't really listen to country, but I like their music.