I miss writing.
And by that I don't mean writing papers or updates for this or journal entries or emails to advisers, I miss writing stories. Or better yet, I miss having stories to write. Now whenever an idea sort of brushes by my mind, I can't help but think 'Eh, I'll never finish it anyway, and if I did, no one would read it. The idea is only interesting to you.' Which really doesn't inspire me to put in the work of writing these ideas that are flimsy and insubstantial at birth. I want a story to distract me during class, I want to have my notebook out and be scribbling scenes when I should be taking notes. I miss doing that, and I can't seem to anymore.
I want my big, coffee-table sized book on Ancient Egypt. Then I could do some decent research and write a story set there, but with only the internet, well, I hate having to research on the internet.
Yesterday I saw a 20ft palm tree in a giant green house near Bois de Boulogne in the far end of the 16th.
Final episode of Battlestar this week, and what am I going to do once it's over?
No, seriously. What am I gonna do?
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