Activism for the Out of Shape

I would never call myself an activist, an advocate maybe... but I don't actively advocate anything. As a vegetarian, I advocate for a more humane, and environmentally friendly meat industry, but I am not actively doing this. I am passively advocating; quietly boycotting the infrastructure.

I am non-confrontational as well. This means that if I disagree with someone, I likely will not argue with them; rather try and find a less confrontational way of saying what I wanted to. Like making a blog post about what someone said to me, sharing it on Facebook, and then blocking them from being able to see the post.

There you go. Passive and non-confrontational; the two things that are completely opposite of an activist.

"Let's clean the river!"

Now here's the problem: essentially, I want to be an activist, but I am afraid of judgement, and anger, and confrontation that inevitably follows it.

My mom always told me: Know what you're advocating, before you advocate. (I am pretty sure she worries that I am about to become a protesting hippie that just protests because it's cool.)

I do agree with her though. I want to know every little thing about what I am supporting, and the group I am with before I join a chant, and crazily wave banners around. I don't want to jump on a bandwagon with no basis or background information.

This is why I usually stick to passive advocating: it's easier, nobody can justifiably hate you for it, and if you change your mind, nobody will really know you had an opinion about that subject in the first place.

Activism requires energy, time, knowledge, courage, organization, and not batting an eye at someone's crude words.

Passivity requires... next to nothing.

Now you see why I am so drawn to my passive advocation. The cat's out of the bag! I am a terrible environmental science major.

This past week however, I got my first taste of activism. I attended a protest. I was asked to represent the YECA (Young Evangelicals for Climate Action) at a protest on Romney's Headquarters in Boston over his environmental "plans." My response was: Absolutely (although my anxiety levels immediately began to sky rocket). Me? An activist? What is this madness!?

The rally delivered a petition with thousands of signatures demanding that Romney take environmental issues more seriously. (For those of you interested- his campaign rejected the petition).

Thumbs up for activism!

Chanting, poster waving, large groups of people... these things makes me nervous. So, going to this rally put my anxiety at an all time high, and yet I am proud to be able to say that for those fleeting moments, at that rally, I was an activist.

Activism is not for everyone, I can attest to that. But maybe it becomes easier with more practice, and I am just out of shape.

I do know that with the right conviction, people can make a change for the better.

Here's hoping.

The Break-Up Counselor.

It is not a fun job but chances are, in your friends group, you have that one friend who you turn to for advice when your relationship has gone sour and you need advice. Maybe, in your friends group, you have a friend that is in a... not-so-good relationship, but cannot see the problems, or needs someone to point them out because they are in denial. Hearing a 3rd party, outside perspective, that only has your well-being in mind, is a useful tool when things get out of hand.

Hate me; I am that friend... which is funny, because I am also probably the one who has the least experience in the whole fantasy Realm of Relationships. That aside, I think any outside person (please note: this does not mean a random person) can give advice as long as they truly care for their friend.

Here are my thoughts on the experience of the Break-Up Counselor:

The Break-Up Counselor is a jerk. There is no win-win. In reality, the friend is probably just looking for confirmation that breaking-up is the right decision, but to the break-up counselor it feels like the whole world has been put on their shoulders. You give your thoughts, and either the friend hates you for suggesting it and the should-be-ex now hates you too, or the friend agrees and breaks up with boy, and you are filled with this doubt on whether or not you should have said anything, because it feels like you convinced them to break-up. You are now on par with the controlling significant other.

Ugh. Break-Up Counseling: Not for the weak of heart or mind.

You have to be logical. This sucks because your friend has invested a decent amount of time, tears and emotion in this relationship.

"But you don't understand, I love him."
Yes, well... you're right. I don't exactly understand how you feel, but I know that he is making you cry yourself to sleep on a regular basis, criticizes everything you do, is controlling and verbally abusive. 
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?"
-__-''

Sometimes all you can do is talk to them. Let them talk about everything that they hold inside. As a Break-Up Counselor sometimes, you may want to go and shake sense into your friend, or punch the guy who is causing this conversation in the first place. It is recommended that you do not do either, because that will cause more problems, and make the 3rd party join the 1st party, and nobody likes a party crasher.

The number one quality required to be the break-up counselor is patience. Denial is cyclical and not easy to break. When you think you have made a break in the cycle, everything falls back to where you started. The break-up counselor is a loving friend who really just has your best interest in heart. And let's be honest your friend just wants someone to talk to.

Natural Harmony

The mountain will not do
what the river does.
The river cannot,
what the mountain can.

And while the mountain can
poison the river,
The river is what gives
the mountain life.

--------------

A random poem, written in the spur of the moment thought while walking in the woods.

Curiosity Has Gotten the Better of Me

This is old news to everybody, I'm sure. Curiosity, a NASA Rover, has landed on Mars. Yay! What I really want to focus on though is A Very Potter Musical, and how these two things are related.

Maybe you've heard of the musical, and maybe not. In this play, the audience is informed of a couple things that the Harry Potter series neglect to tell us, like:

Hogwarts has a hidden swimming pool, and
There is another school of wizardry called Pigfarts. (It's on Mars. You need a rocket-ship.)

In any case, it's a great 3 hours of your life that will provide you with amazing quotes to add to your arsenal.

So Curiosity has landed on Mars, and you like a musical. How do they relate? Well! Let me tell you- they are completely related.

Allow me to take you back to Harry Potter's first trip to Diagon Alley, at Olivander's Wand shop. Was it not curious that Harry's wand shared the same core as the one who was bent on killing him. (Well not really, because by the end of the series we all know that a little piece of Voldy-man was latched onto Harry's forehead.)

Any-who, the phrase to describe the acknowledgement of this coincidence was, "Curious." Now correct me if I am wrong, but the base word of Curiosity is in fact- Curious. (I know, that knowledge just completely blew your mind.)

Is it not curious that Curiosity has landed on Mars, the exact planet where Pigfarts is rumored to be located only a short period of time after the ending of the Harry Potter era? I say nay, it is the perfect timing to continue the story.

I, like many others, am now awaiting this rover to discover my acceptance letter from Rumbleroar (the talking Lion headmaster of Pigfarts), so to learn wizardry on Mars, which would be totally awesome.

Also! I would like to resurface the Fred isn't dead tag. At the end of the musical, Dumbledore is asked by Rumbleroar if he was going to tell Harry that he was, in fact, alive. To which Dumbledore said, no, and proceeded to ride Rumbleroar to Pigfarts. Dumbledore was dead! We all saw Snape kill Dumbledore. Which means... if Fred died... he must just have been transported to Pigfarts! (Celebrations!)

Basically, the massive NASA, science, space success story that Curiosity is, has become a new excuse for me to smirk and bring up Pigfarts in normal day conversation.

Thank you NASA. Thank you Starkid.
And goodnight.

Why I Can't Dislike Fan-fiction

I have read many different threads, articles and posts about fan-fiction, mostly negative:

Fan-fiction is stupid. (level 0 argument for those who know any TOK)  

You are using someone else's characters, and not using any of your own imagination, which is pathetic. You have no creativity!

It ruins something that was perfectly fine before hand, with bad writing.

Hater's Gonna Hate.

Now. I will agree that, sometimes fan-fiction can be written terribly, and the ideas behind it don't line up with anything from the actual book that they are writing about, aside from character names. And maybe you could become successful writing your own story with your own plot base and everything. There are debates from both sides about whether or not fan-fiction is worth it. This article discusses and supports fan-fiction beautifully.

In as much as it pains me to read certain fan-fictions, as a whole, it is a wonderful thing. Fangirling (PH-AN-GURL-ING) may be one of the funnest things there is to do on the internet. While I, personally, am not into that whole erotic side of Fandoms, I cannot disown a Fandom for what another person... enjoys?

I won't lie to you by saying: I am perfectly okay with reading a fan-fiction in public. Saying it out loud can be embarrassing, especially to people who do not know anything about fan-fiction but the erotic side. When I admit to reading fan-fiction, they just assume I'm reading a porno version of Harry Potter, when in fact I am not. Thank you very much.

Sure, there are plenty of those around if that is what suits your fancy. I prefer those that follow the plot of the actual novel up to a certain point and then take on a side of their own.

Why are people drawn to fan-fiction? Why do I read fan-fiction even when it is so poorly written? Well, it starts with the author, who writes a story, that develops characters in such a way that when the story is done... you want more.

Maybe you are upset about who ended up with who because you ship something else (I SHIP IT ALL!). There is no shame in that. Maybe you want to write your own ending, or add yourself to the story. Maybe you are not a writer, but you love the characters. That is why fan-fiction is perfect. Fan-fiction allows the story to continue even when it is over. Fan-fiction is the legacy of a novel or series.

That is why I can't dislike it. Even when, sometimes, I want to.

Here are some of my ships for my favorite Fandoms:

Harry Potter: Dramione (sorry guys), Framione (Fred isn't dead.), Larry?  SeamusxAnyone!
Divergent: I ship what's cannon, because it's awesome.
Hunger Games: Buttermuts (Buttercupxmuttations?), KatCat (Because... Cato really had a big heart... and I like cats...)
Legend of Korra: I SHIP IT ALLLLLLL! (Meesami x14)
Maximum Ride: I don't want to talk about it, if I have to pick- TotalxAkila

SoulFest 2012

Well it's about time. For those of you who don't know, SoulFest is an annual four day concert celebrating all things Jesus. And it is great, although I received a few sentiments that indicated it to be quite expensive. As a college student, the prices are not something I can afford. Especially while paying off monthly interest on my college loans. There are plenty of ways to make the cost less, but I am never sure how much time I have during my summer, let alone whether or not I'll be in New England. I'm a procrastinator at heart.

Not only are there discounts offered to buy tickets, there is also a super secret way to get in for free. But fear not! This super secret is, in fact, on their website: Volunteering! Camping, volunteering with awesome people, music, and all things festival. It is all I could ask for.

The last time I volunteered was 4 years ago, and I went with my mother and older sister. I didn't have my driver's permit (though I definatley should have). I was working "Inside parking," in which I directed artists for the Revival Stage. Big coach buses would enter the area and I would have to pretend like I knew how to direct cars. I was terrified, but I did get to casually talk with random band members from Superchic[k], Kutless and Tenth Avenue North. In the off time, I was able to catch a few bands, and I met some awesome people who had a great impact on me, and made the experience all I could have asked for.

This year, I went back again to volunteer. Just me and my sister. (I've had my license for a while now, if you were wondering). This time we were placed in the Box Office, but we only had hours to work there on Thursday night and Friday. If you purchased or picked up tickets around either of those times you might have seen us. Hello again!

We still had some volunteer time we needed to fill, and we ended up in PARKING! Woooo! So hey, if you came on Wednesday or Thursday after 2p, we might have seen you there too!

You know. Volunteering is something you have to do from your heart. Especially. Especially, when you encounter people who feel like you are a suitable person to take all their anger out on. If it weren't for other supportive volunteers, super nice people who just seemed to love everything when I walked up to their car, and the knowledge that nothing rude was meant personally (I hope!), I might have broken down a couple of times.

Switchfoot. Can't you tell?

But I made it through: fought the super heat, the meanies, and the tenting on a slope that made you wake up at the end of your tent. And, I got to see a few band that I quite enjoyed: like Chasing Cooper (formerly known as Siloam), TobyMac, Switchfoot and Reilly. Oh and Paul Colman, who was hilarious, and had the crowd singing "In the Jungle."

Unfortunately we left a day early. So if you are a SoulFest Volunteer person: I'm so sorry!! I had no intentions of leaving early, we weren't scheduled for anything yet, we didn't sign in, and my sister was ready to leave after we packed up. No excuses.

I didn't get to say goodbye to anyone. So if fate brings you here and you were someone I wanted to say goodbye to: It was good to meet you!

To the ENC tent: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for that T-Shirt. I had grossly sweat through all of the shirts I brought, and that one saved my life, and anyone who had to stand in my vicinity. I will wear that shirt proudly around campus next year. #ENClove!

Whew. That was a lot. But it was truly a great weekend.

Befriending Irony

I always forget an umbrella when it rains. Every time. If it is a sunny, beautiful day, my umbrella weighs down my bag, laughing at me with Irony. Then, when it does rain, it happens to be the day I decide: carrying around a heavy umbrella is futile. Oh Irony, how you must take pleasure in my life.

One day last summer, I was waiting at the trolley stop. I was wearing a nice dress and was going into town to meet with some friends. The sun shone, the work day had gone by quickly, it was a Friday and the day could not seem to get any better. I boarded the trolley and was off for an adventure with my friends. The trolley went underground; I transferred to the subway (the much less glamorous form of public transit) and continued on my way.

Finally getting off the hot, crowded train, I took to the stairs anxious to be welcomed back into the sunlight. I knocked myself for ever reflecting on how wonderful and sunny the day was… I should have known that it was only a matter of time before Irony felt the need to check up on me.

Sheets of rain poured down from the sky. Buckets in the clouds seemed to just overflow and dump out onto me. I did not want to take that first step out into the street. I saw businessmen sprinting with their briefcases over their heads, people trying to use a newspaper as shelter. I had a purse… with no umbrella in it.

People pushed by me from the subway exit as I debated whether or not I should ditch my friends, go home and apologize later. Just as I was turning around to reenter the subway, a man accidentally bumped me, pushing me out from underneath my shelter: instantly drenched. So much for decision making, clearly Irony had already made plans for me. I felt like I was being manipulated into going on a date, and just could not say no.

I walked down streets, water dripping off my nose, muttering to myself and ranting about my hatred for Irony and Irony’s love for me.

I arrived at the coffee shop, where my friends said to meet. Maybe I was early. The shop was slowly filling up as college students got out of their summer classes. I shook my head at myself, thinking about all the people walking by looking at me right now: drenched and sipping on my tea…alone. I let 14 minutes pass before I looked at my phone to see 3 texts all saying the same thing:

“Weather’s bad, we’ll reschedule.”

As I sat there, I realized that I had not been sitting by myself at all. Irony was sipping on a latte beside me with a big grin slapped on his face.

Well played Irony, well played.

On the CONTRAry

Eight seconds. That’s how long he has to make an impression. Promenade; hands link, he leads her. 1, 2, 3, 4… he can smell her hair as he twirls her into the position for the next call, 5, 6, 7, 8, and he hands her off  as the ladies chain. She smiles as she swings, 2, 3, 4, locking eyes with her partner. Jealousy clouds his eyes as he easily moves to the rhythm of the fiddle, 5, 6, 7, 8.

She is taken for the rest of the night, he’s sure: partners lined up one right after another. He lost his chance. Circle to the left, 3, 4, 5, 6. His eight seconds to win her over were not enough. Though he was quick on his feet dancing, making conversation was a little different, 7, 8. Allemande right, 4, 5.

He searches the dance hall for a partner as the caller announces the next song,. Futile, his eyes can only focus on her, 6, 7, 8. The music begins, he has a chance in the line to dance with her, but it is only a moment, only eight seconds until she’s gone again.

Their eyes meet as partners balance and swing, 5, 6. Her face is flushed from the exercise, blushed from the movement, 7, 8. She smiles, 6, 7 and turns to circle left breaking the eye contact, 8. The music ends, he thanks his partner, claps for the band and goes to find a new partner, hiding the disappointment as he sees her accept the hand of her next suitor. And the music starts, 7, 8… and the music ends. There is a break before the last dance. He goes to the punch bowl. She is there.

“Are you not going to dance the final contra?” He asked, surprised she was not still being fought over.

“On the Contrary,” 1, 2, 3, 4, “I was just waiting for you to ask.” And they danced, 5, 6, 7, 8.

---------------------------------------

I absolutely love Contra Dancing. My friend introduced me to it in March of 2011. It is a great way to meet new people, dance (even if you are a terrible dancer!), and have fun. I won't say I haven't met my fair share of awkward dances, neighbors, partners, because I definatley have (even in just a year), but at the end of the dance, I usually agree with myself that it was worth it.

If you want to find a dance in your area go Here. And if you want to learn some dance moves before you go (although you usually don't have to) search them on Youtube, or check out this worksheet.

If you're in the Boston Area, might I recommend BIDA?

Why I Simultaneously Hate and Somewhat Appreciate "Filler Books"

If you have read any book series in your life, chances are you have read what we call a "filler book," or a book that holds not enough significant information to merit over 50 pages. A book whose only true purpose is to continue building tension between the protagonist and antagonist and leave you with a severely annoying cliff-hanger and a year to wait for the next book. And yet we find ourselves reading these and anxiously waiting for the next installment in the series.

You usually can't tell your reading a filler book until you've finished it. And how do you know you've read a filler book? Because you feel like you haven't actually moved forward in the story. Maybe you've gained a tad bit more information, that isn't all that important to the overarching story. Most of the time, when you finish the book, you feel no sense of accomplishment, and find yourself saying, "That's it?" or "I just spent $20 to buy this is hardcover?"

This is why I despise filler books.

I would be lying however, if I said that I didn't also somewhat appreciate them. (This statement depends completely on whether or not the preceding books were worth reading).

Usually (again depending on the series), when I read a series, I get severely attached to the characters. They become my best-friends, and I don't want to grow apart. (Only a slight exaggeration).

I read the Maximum Ride series... when I thought it was just going to be three books (It's finally going to end in August 2012, 5 books and 3 comics later). When I found out a fourth book was in the works, my heart fluttered a little. And then I read the book, and then I read the book after that, and the one after that etc. etc, each time hoping that something would happen. I was slightly relieved by Angel, but still waiting for all the pieces to [hopefully] come together in the end. Filler books drive me crazy, but when you fall in love with characters, you don't care as much when they run around doing nothing.

When an amazing series ends, I can't help but silently demand more from the author. The Harry Potter series comes to mind. As much as I disliked Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and am convinced the only reason for that book was to kill Sirius and give us a real reason to hate Voldemort, I am glad that Rowling let us live in the Wizarding World a little longer.

But for me to even consider somewhat appreciating a filler book, it better be a dang good series.

What series have you read with a filler that drives you crazy?

Love the Word, Hate the Flavor

Gouda. I am not quite sure what is so appealing about this word. It's refreshing. You simply say the word and it finishes with "ahh," like you just took a sip of ice water of a stifling hot day.

Gouda. Iz Gewd.
Gewd. Ahhh...

Whether you care or not, Gouda cheese originated in Holland, and if you ever cared how to make it just click HERE!

As much as I love randomly saying "Gouda Cheese," or quoting She's the Man when I say, "My favorite's Gouda," I just can't bring myself to actually enjoy this particular dairy product.

I would love to say that I actually enjoy this cheese, rather than be an endorser for a product I don't actually eat. And yet, here I am... writing about Gouda.

I was first tried Gouda as a Freshman in college. As a vegetarian at a small (mostly commuter student) college campus, my food choices are limited. Not to mention I'm picky. So, if it's not a salad, it's a sandwich! And a sandwich for me, is basically a salad with a slice of provolone cheese and bread. It's an amazing sandwich.

Since provolone cheese is a delicacy on my campus, you are lucky to grab even half a slice before it's gone. Especially if you don't go to lunch in the first wave of people. (Which I never do). I learned my lesson- in my sandwich, there is no substitute'. No provolone, no sandwich. End of story.

It's called provolovin' for a reason.

The first time I was faced with the dilemma of no provolone, I thought, "No biggie, the cheese doesn't even make that much of a difference once I put the lettuce, tomato, cucumber, honey mustard, bean sprouts, pickles, banana peppers and whatever else I can find on the sandwich." I thought, "I always talk about how much I love Gouda. I'll just put that in my sandwich and then I can say I ate gouda, and I liked it." I though, "What could possibly go wrong?"

My sandwich looked beautiful. I was excited to have my first bite of gouda cheese.

...

I ended up taking the cheese out of the sandwich, and just eating the bread and vegetables.

With that sandwich I discovered that: Gouda, while sounding delicious when spoken, does not belong in that sandwich.

Just History: His Story.

In 7th grade (I think), my history teacher introduced the subject of history by dividing the History into two words: His Story. To make the class seem relatable and more exciting, like I am actually just reading a story? I have no idea. It didn't work.

It wasn't until about my junior year of high school that I didn't completely hate everything about the class. I always thought it was pointless to hear the same story every single year with only one or two details changed.

I am reading The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. In the book, there is a paragraph about history that inspired this post. (This has nothing to do with the actual story, so no worries- no spoilers if you intend on reading the book).

"I remember watching a television program once...I must have been seven or eight, too young to understand it. It was the sort of thing my mother liked to watch: historical and educational. She tried to explain to me afterwards, to tell me that the things in it had really happened, but to me it was only a story. I thought someone had made it up. I suppose all children think that, about any history before their own. If it's only a story, it becomes less frightening." -p. 144

Last year I finished my final history course. Ever. Unless I decided to change my major or take more history courses. As unlikely as that is, I have found a new appreciation for what history teaches us.

When I was younger, history was a boring story that I had to listen to every single year repeatedly. A story that I had to memorize pointless dates to, and vocabulary. History was just another English class. We were told these events were not fiction, that they actually happened. I told myself that these events had happened centuries before I was even conceived. That is what my teacher said, so it must be true, but I could not actually picture them happening. No matter how realistic the History Channel made it look.

Children don't mean to be disrespectful by complete lack of understanding regarding history. How can we even begin to fathom war upon war upon war? Why can't everyone just get along? The emotions do not register because everything is simple when we are children. Nothing is bigger than the bubbles we grow up in. And now we feel the repercussions of different events in history. Our generation's history is now being printed in textbooks. (So weird!)

History is weird.

Sorry. I just really enjoyed that quote from Atwood. For some reason it made me want to blab about nothing...

Olympic Dreams

**DISCLAIMER** Content of this post is only 14% serious

I love watching the Olympics. There's something for everybody. Even people who don't generally like watching sports. By far, my favorite event to watch is men's gymnastics. (And no, not just because there are men in tight spandex). Don't get me wrong, women's gymnastics is pretty awesome, but there is a difference between men's and women's athleticism. (Sorry feminists, but we are different).

Well, since the Olympics have not actually started, I have been spending random amounts of time watching the trials. And since I am from the United States, I have only been paying attention to the USA men's gymnastics Olympic trials... to be specific.

And yes, I have found a man to put my money on. (Figuratively of course, I don't gamble, and I don't really have money). Jake Dalton. Not only are his biceps huge, and his skills impressive (to someone who doesn't know anything about gymnastics aside from "ooohhh a flip and he didn't break his neck!") but, he is a cutie.

Forgive me for my shallowness!

This being said, what any 20 year old woman with all her dignity would do, I immediately consulted my friend to discuss. And this is what we decided:

We both love to kayak, although admittedly, neither of us have a kayak nor the means to transport one if we had the money to buy one. Technicalities. As wannabe (professional) kayakers, we decided to create a new Olympic event:

The Double Person Kayak Race

Since this is not a real race. Because this race is so new, there is no official trial to determine teams for each country, rather a intense feat of Olympic proportions is necessary to prove your awesomeness and worthiness to compete.

Because we are from Boston, have no sponsors for this completely legitimate event, and this year's games are in London, to prove our worthiness, we shall kayak across the Atlantic Ocean! (Begin playing intense music). Oh Yes! Prepare to hear about us in the news and everything! Don't worry, we are prepared. Lots of protein bars and, naturally, we have a pocket water distiller that will let us turn sea water into drinkable fresh water! Better yet, reverse osmosis anyone?

Also, since we are the only people in this event, we are pretty much guaranteed a Gold Medal. No big deal. Bring on the sponsorships!

Oh yeah, back to the point-- Jake Dalton. When we receive our Gold Medals, he won't have a choice but to think we are nothing less than the coolest people ever. Then we live happily ever after. 

OLYMPICS 2012- Leggo!

Coffee Past 7p

Some people are night owls while others are early birds. What do you call a person who is neither? What kind of bird just likes to sleep? Well, whatever it is, when I am in summer mode that is the kind of bird I become, even though I try to force myself to wake up early.

My freshman year of college I tried to become a night owl. I would stay up to anywhere from 12a to 3a before going to sleep, and I would wake up at 7a. All without drinking coffee. I was pretty smug about it. But, it did not take long to figure out that 4 hours of sleep for me was simply not enough. Long story short, I decided to self-enforce a bedtime.

The summer before my sophomore year, I began drinking coffee because I would go to work at 6a. During the school year I would go to bed at a reasonable 11p. I didn't need to drink coffee, but it tasted good, and it was nice having a little bit of help waking up in the morning. A few times however, I decided that it would be a great idea to get a coffee at 7p. Thinking it would help me with my homework. Besides, caffeine doesn't affect me that much. (Denial).

I did this last night again:

"It's 3a. I'm wide awake. And I want to sleep. I love sleep. It's a hobby. I want sleep. I tried to sleep. I was yawning. That means I'm tired, right? Why is my mind racing a million miles a second, and my eyes wide open? My eyes hurt, but they won't close.

I know better than having coffee past 7p. I should have known better, I have to wake up at 6a tomorrow today. I won't be happy."

The solution? -- More Coffee.

And I thought I wasn't going to give in and drink coffee when I got to college.