THE WAY I read a letter’s this:
’T is first I lock the door,
And push it with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.

And then I go the furthest off
To counteract a knock;
Then draw my little letter forth
And softly pick its lock.

Then, glancing narrow at the wall,
And narrow at the floor,
For firm conviction of a mouse
Not exorcised before,

Peruse how infinite I am
To—no one that you know!
And sigh for lack of heaven,—but not
The heaven the creeds bestow.

-Emily Dickinson

...Is there another way to interpret this poem besides masturbation? >_>;; I'm sure there is, and I'm just not thinking but. Gah. (Zarek took one look at the poem was like "...Yeah this is about masturbation.")

dfadfgjkhdfgjkadfghfd.

I brought quite possibly the ugliest graphing calculator in the known universe today. But um. It's a TI-89? :D Sherwin's going to teach me how to use it!

Also plan on dragging Sherwin into the depths of Brooklyn to help me pick out a laptop soon. :D Yay Sherwin! ♥

...This is quite possibly the first entry in a while that hasn't mentioned Ben-wait, damnit. >_<; Stupid lovely boyfriend of mine. The other I realized something kind of depressing; Ben and I are that disgustingly sickeningly fluffy couple who feed each other and are attached at the hip and whatnot that everybody dispises with a passion.

...Right, that last sentence there was grammatically correct. Uh huh. *nods*