Feeling: Unaccomplished

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" goes Mr. Dinosaur, unsure of what he really means. He would like to go outside and sit in the sun or roll on the grass, but he is trapped in this glass cage, purring ferociously in the hopes that he may scare someone enough to let him out. But people just pierce him with funny looks and go on with their day, unaware of the pain they cause him. Mr. Dinosaur can only watch them as they skip around and play with the squirrels in the trees, jealous that it's not him. "One day," he says to himself as he goes to sleep for the fifteenth time today. "One day," he says to himself as he shuts his eyes slightly too tightly and lets them roll into the back of his head.

Six years ago, a thirteen-year-old girl stumbled upon this novel sensation called Blogger. She didn't see much potential for it, and, honestly, she didn't even like the idea of blogs, but she created an account and updated it semi-frequently nonetheless. Indeed, she had little reason to believe this tiny bit of the internet she occupied would continue to grow and be there to document the enormous changes she would go through, or that at nineteen, she would be standing here, in front of her glowing laptop, perplexed by the strange relation that is so evident between these two seemingly separate people.

Happy birthday, Broken Smile. You have six candles to blow out.

I am in Montréal but I cannot speak French. I feel like a dirty shoe (I don't know what that feels like).

Feeling: Skippy
Listening to: Boston by Augustana

And now, I am on my way to Boston. (I thought this was an appropriate song for the trip.)

Feeling: Sleepy
Listening to: The little bits of music that come through the guy behind me's earphones

I am on my way to New York City as I type this!