My relationship with this place has gotten to the point of "I'm leaving you soon and don't feel like investing any more effort." It's like miniature senioritis. One symptom: my room is a mess. To be fair, my mess is visually bothersome, but isn't actually dirty. My messes are largely composed of unorganized papers and, at the moment, a pile of clean clothes I haven't bothered to put away yet. There are much worse messes that could be on my floor right now.
I was covered in glitter earlier this evening as part of a peacock-themed costume, and I'm afraid that I'm going to be finding glitter here and there for at least a year now. To quote my roommate, "glitter is the herpes of crafts." Perhaps one of the worst choices I made this week: caking my hair with gel and glitter. I took a shower/rinse upon my return to my humble abode, but... dang. Glitter just doesn't come out of hair very easily. I've been scratching my head while sitting here, and at least twenty glitter particles have fallen to my desk. Ridiculous.
Speaking of my hair, it's is so long now! I buzzed it off during the fall, and it's now long enough to have very silly pigtails. This is the longest my hair has been in... oh, probably a year and a half. I'm aiming for a bob.
In other news, I'm wearing someone else's boxers right now. It's amazing how strongly we tie emotions to objects, particularly items of clothing. Even without sentimental value, though, they're super comfy.
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