Packing is stressful.

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Yeah, I'm stressing that'll forget somthing for this weekend's battle. I'm also stressin' a little that my right arm won't hold out. See, I'm left handed, sooo... That musket's about nine pounds. I guess I shouldn't allow that mentality to develop and really get into the mindset, that I need that weight in my hand or else I feel weird.

*sighs* I hope I fare better this year and not disappoint, like everyone will think I'm not cut out to be a soldier, and think I'm weak and pathletic. `

There, now I've cleared my mind.
The sadness drains through me rather than skating over my skin. It travels through every cell to reach the ground. I filter it yet strangely enough, I keep what was pure and it is the dirt that leaves.




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I am moving in two weeks and packing is freaking me out. I have too few boxes, and no packing tape. I can't put my books in boxes until I can tape the bottop of them, other wise they fall straight through. And I only have a total of ten boxes, and far too much stuff for them.


Gah, I might go mad before the move even happens.
Life is for living.



You wanna be a writer? You don't know how or when? Find a quiet place, use a humble pen.
— Paul Simon