As previously mentioned I'm pretty eccentric, I'm not a radicalist but I'm pretty far out there. I have a strange, strange sense of humor. While brushing my teeth and swearing to my self that I'd go to bed on time for once so I could start my day off early; enjoy to beauty of a new day instead of getting ready in a panic and dashing off to sit through a lesson that would induce the sleep I should have gotten before. (although I'm fairly proud to say I haven't fallen asleep in any classes this semester my teachers are far to entertaining) However, amongst the systemic almost subconscious routine of scrubbing away the decay of my mouth, (cute imagery right?) I found my mind wandering what walls, the silent watchers, would have to say about me if they had lips to whisper my undisclosed life.
The first thought that wondered in to my head was how they'd tattle, oh they tattle and tell all the things that are ment to be secret, like how I drink the applesauce from the jar, oh how quickly they would call me in on attempted murder because my cursed hipbones feel the need to turn on the gas stove while I reach for something on the highest shelf and countless times; hindsight this toxic gas explains quite a bit about my immaturity. My poor abused mind. oh how they'd laugh; how hard those wall probably laughed today as buckets and buckets of water poured, no cascaded, over the brim of what I now am tempted to refer to as our "porcelain problem." While most twenty year old girls would either scream or quietly deal with this predicament I laughed, I laughed hard and loud a thundering laugh and a laugh that rolled through our apartment which turned this crisis into live stand up from the vanity room of Aspen 609. When in under three minutes we had an inch of water encompassing the floor. I was truly grateful for the fact that I had choose to wear my rainboots to school to fight through the slush of melting snow little had I suspected I would need them within my home.
The tales the walls of Aspen would tell are nothing in comparison to the chronicles that the campus would spill out if only it could, of my practiced "self control" banishing myself to the Rick's computer lab until my essay was written, allowing myself only breaks for food and the bathroom, how the walls would snicker as I justified a brief "jazzersize" as long as it was in the bathroom which was previously a fair games for a break, oh my marvelous self control. The rolled eyes the walls would possess as they watched my glace backwards to see if the stalls were empty before I started my shannagins. the sneeky smile the walls would carry as they told you of my clueless wanderings around the newly made buildings trying to take it all in with the eyes of a new toddler trying to make sense of a new playground in the neighborhood. they would dote proudly as they watched the glowing wonderment wash over me.
By far the ones with the most amusing secrets to tell would be those of my never-loving Jetta, at times on late nights, mid-days or evening on my many drives whether near or far when I'm alone in my car or maybe with a passenger or two escaping many near death experiences, most of which will not be posted here where concerned loved ones will panic. no need to worry the scare is none worse than a rollercoaster ride and herds of people seek out daily.
It's pumpkin time, so on that note I will bid you all a goodnight. And while I am fairly amused with what people would think if they knew all my quirks and secrets I think enough beans have been spilled I can rest my head knowing you have more of me to ponder upon. with all these bizarre habbits it should be reasonably effortless not to get too carree'd away, right?