...or something like that

you guys, the life of a commuter is a weird one.
and bear with me while i sound like i'm speaking from some wise place of experience, will you?

i have a 30 minute drive to and from work every day - that's an hour of time to be with me by myself in my white crayon box of a car.

although there are days (like the last half of today) where i would die to be able to just walk home from work - i'm starting to use these little bursts of time to...

pick off my nail polish.

  • i am no stranger to nails that look like this:

  • i will destroy my nail polish at any time and in any place. i guess what i'm trying to say is that i don't discriminate. lest we not forget the night we got engaged?

write a screenplay?

  • this hasn't happened yet. but i feel like it would make a really good book sleeve excerpt "in her twenty-third year, she wrote this book on the i-15" (i don't know why my book sleeve talks like that.)

pretend i'm a contestant on the voice.

  • so...i did this before the voice existed...SPOILERS:  i win. always.
dream about pink lemonade and ways to aquire it.
(my sweet setup outside. with PL, of course.)
  • i don't know what it is about pink lemonade lately. i think it tastes like summer.
condemn people to firey places for being bad drivers.
  • my road rage has gotten a little out of control, you guys. sometimes i even resort to a few well chosen words...but all i can say about that is that i am my father's daughter.

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