Je veux être libre.

    One day, out of nowhere, I was asked the question, “If you had a time machine (one-way only) would you go to live in the past, and if so, what part of history?”
    Call me sadistic, call me insane, call me selfish. None of those words would have affected my decision. If I had the option of going back in time and ending up in a ghetto or a concentration camp during WWII, I honestly think I would do it.
    Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate living in a first world country during the 21st century. I don’t take technology, food, or a roof over my head for granted, I really don’t. It’s just that I feel like I’ll never really understand something until I’ve experienced it.
    I’ll never know how dangerous, dirty, and demoralizing the ghettos truly were. I’ll never understand the feeling of having my life in someone else’s murderous hands day after day. I’ll never wonder when my next bland slice of bread will come, or when—if—I’ll feel the free ground beneath my bare, rotting feet again.
    Would I have ended up like my grandma: tough, optimistic, able to move on? I honestly don’t know the answer to that. I’d like to believe that the answer is yes, I would’ve, but I’m not convinced. Unlike my grandma, I don’t think I’d make it out mentally stable, to be honest. And that thought scares me, it really does, but that knowledge wouldn’t stop me from taking the opportunity to go back.
    I want to experience it. I want to understand her history, to live her history, so that maybe I can come to terms with her history.

In a like/hate relationship with my memoir. It’s awful but I like it… sometimes.

bah

I turned on the lights and there was this huge bug on my wall. It was really long and thin and had incredibly long legs and I freaked out and ran to get toilet paper to kill it BUT IT FELL BEHIND THE BED WHEN I HIT IT. So I moved my bed and the sunuvabtch wasn’t there and I didn’t know what to do. As soon as I moved my bed back, that motherfucker started crawling out fast as hell from under my bed and I freaked out again and killed him. But then I started panicking and thinking that maybe there was more than one.

And then a strand of hair landed on my leg and I almost screamed. It feels like there are bugs crawling up my back.

WHY

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP?!

Just finished working on the second draft of my developed memoir for class. It’s seven pages long and it’s awful, ugh.

:(

I just wanna shoot a show already, ergh. Why do I live with fascists?

The season 6 and season 7 Christmas specials aren’t on netflix though >.>

I don’t know what to start next, Supernatural or The Office?

sigh too many options