I am a Thing-Finder, and when you’re a Thing-Finder you don’t have a minute to spare.
The whole world is full of things, and somebody has to look for them.

— Pippi Longstocking // Astrid Lindgren

Everything is essentially optional; participation is a choice.

There’s this really hazy line between how impersonal our lives have become and how much more we know about each other. I can know when you went to the grocery store, what song you’re listening to, what you did last night, where you are right now… but we haven’t talked in months, or days, or maybe ever. And it’s so sad that people don’t write letters or make phone calls but one hundred years from now people will look back on the 21st century and think how wonderful it must have been to have something as personal as twitter. 

I have wonderful friends and I wake up happy every day and now when I don’t feel like going out I don’t feel like I’m missing anything but, honestly, the saddest part about everyone’s social life in college is that all of the times (that everyone thinks are the greatest part of college) are spent drunk and no one remembers them the next day anyways, except for me; I don’t know why I always remember things (sometimes I don’t though, too) and then I tell people about them the next day and they laugh it off and I wish everything had some cosmic significance but in all actuality we’re just a bunch of pretty people running around an ugly city. 

I’ve been looking at literary agencies and this girl wrote a review of her internship about how she would spend seven hours a day just looking at manuscripts and it wasn’t fun but she learned a lot, especially from all the reading, and she just kept reading and she didn’t get paid but it was worth it in the end because now she has some fabulous career in New York City and I’m guessing she sits in cafes every day and drinks a lot of coffee and reads a lot of books that are published and unpublished and when I was reading about her I simultaneously thought to myself: well, that sounds amazing… and… if I spend all day reading new books when will I ever find the time or desire to read the old ones? 

Is there anyone out there with a whole brain, and half of a heart to give away?