I've got a jar of dirt! I've got a jar of dirt!

fab·ri·cate
tr.v. fab·ri·cat·ed, fab·ri·cat·ing, fab·ri·cates

1. To make; create.
2. To construct by combining or assembling diverse, typically standardized parts: fabricate small boats.
3. To concoct in order to deceive: fabricated an excuse.

I'm just bursting with words. Adjectives, nouns, fragments...I've reached my maximum. Yet, woe is me, nothing is coming out. I'll try to relieve some of my thoughts, although I'm positive that they won't come out right. To begin with vanity may be a sin, but these thoughts have to get out eventually. I sincerely doubt that the order is of much importance. To be born with a full head of silvery blonde hair and striking blue eyes is a blessing, no doubt, but there is no limit to what I would give to have a full head of fireshined red curly locks and emerald green eyes, with fair skin and trillions of freckles. I adore that look. Is it not ridiculous that I started this blog entry at 9:58 PM, and it's now 1:59 AM? Of course it is. I simply can not focus, and it drives me crazy. Today I tried to have a bath to calm myself and clear my head to no avail. I am still foggy and groggy and I have a terrible headache. The month is half over, my ovaries are kicking in, and the moon is fading. Maybe it's taking my good mood with it. I got my bank card today, it's neat and shiny and fun to flaunt. My room is already starting to clutter. My bed is a mountain of clothes and books and CD's and who knows what else. I miss the Stampede already, even though it made me sick and dizzy and exhausted. The familiar beeps and bangs and smashes and blinking neon lights and impossible crowds and local catastrophes and smiles stretched from one side the other and messes and dresses and trends and friends...I can't say I hated it, that's for sure. Of course, some things could've been way better. Like the mini-catastrophe we had on our own. Oh well, they should know that over-reacting gets you nowhere by now. It wasn't my fault that I was sick, and it was perfectly common sense that we wanted to get away from the crowds and still see the band. Hearing..yeahhh, that would've been nice, but I'm not kicking myself in the head for missing it. Again, oh well. Cheesy interactive Disney websites fill me with rage. Completely fried and in need of a snip, my hair is screaming, "CUT ME CUT ME CUT ME." I wish I could do it on my own. As much as I want to write about my stellar Skyride experience, I'll save it. I want to make sure I know what I'm talking about. Well, that's enough sharp rambling turns for tonight. Until next time. /tips hat.

love always, xo.