So for some reason every time I leave Barnes and Noble on any particular weekend, I am left with an inexplainable, unquenchable need to be or do or have more than I am or do or have. I leave with a sense that I should immediately begin working on my Pulitzer prize-winning novella, or that I should somehow bump into the man of my dreams and fall madly in love and have a whirlwind romance. And this desire or urge or whatever it is always goes unfulfilled because, as I well know, I will never start my Pulitzer prize-winning novella or meet the man of my dreams immediately after leaving Barnes and Noble at 11:00 on a Friday or Saturday because, let's face it, I have no motivation or inspiration to write my novella, and the man of my dreams is definitely not going to jump out in front of my moped as I whiz down the street and cause me to stop and fall in love with him.
But nonetheless, that desire just hits me every time. And after the urgency of the feeling has passed, I am left with a strange aftertaste of sorts that causes me to listen to emo music and classic rock.
So that's what I'm doing right now, as well as experimenting with making livejournal icons. Except that I'm worried they'll all turn out incredibly emo. Like me.
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