There seems to be so little time to do all that I want but at the same time too much time waiting for things to happen. I can't wait for MY life to start. But, life has a habit of getting in the way.
"The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming."
