#17.

i feel like a hermit. it seems as though a plane ride always sucks my vitality out of me like some sort of super-vacuum. i come home and then i am comatose for days. by comatose, i mean by sleeping at ungodly hours and marathoning shows.

april says that i should write blogs on account of the fact that everything that i say should be a one-liner on a sit-com. i don't think that i am that ridiculous nor do i think i harbour enough wit to feed a sit-com. although writing everyday seems like a good goal.

childhood (post-adolescent) dream: i want to work as a part of the FBI's BAU and be really badass and catch serial kilers.

they make it sound so enticing on tv.