Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?

I've been writing about Virginia Woolf for 4 hours now.

I think it's about time to take a break.

She's all about stream of conscious. I might as well be, too.

The "LOVE" enrichment project woodamajigger-- a wedding gift that currently sits on the entertainment center-- blends into the wall, even though the two colors are not the same. I probably would be a better decorator if I had money to do so, and more importantly, time. But I spend my time doing other things-- like schooling and showering and sleeping. But I wonder if the landlord knew that one day, we would move in, and the walls would be the perfect color to make our"LOVE" enrichment-project-wedding-gift-the-extent-of-my-decor-skills blend in with the wall. He probably didn't, and if I told him, he wouldn't care. Just like he didn't really care when we told him the garbage disposal was broken-- but I guess we didn't either because we've only called him once about it. The only other time we called him was when the pipes froze over the winter because we didn't have the heat high enough. But he responded promptly to that. In fact, he brought a heater that didn't work over for us. We just left the heat on high, and placed the broken heater above our shower in the large storage gap that allows us to keep our christmas decorations and a backstock of paper towels. I would put extra clothes up there-- you know the ones that are perpetually falling out of my closet because they don't have any room-- but it's been water damaged, and probably has some sort of fungus. I'm not that into the fungus look. I don't really know what look I'm into. I'm a married, almost-twenty-one-year-old female who will graduate with a bachelor's degree in one year precisely and sometimes I still can't figure myself out. But sometimes I think that will never go away. Sometimes I think your mind simply can't keep up with the rest of you...That your ears grow and your eyes grow and your heart grows, and old brain is just left in the dust, waiting to know what the rest of you knows. But maybe that’s not you. Maybe that’s just me.



I think Virginia might have thought so, though.

She gets me.