And the Sun Ate Her Eyes

Vintage top, vintage jacket, American Eagle denim shorts, leather bag from Argentina

After a bit of self reflection and a few much-needed caffeine jolts from all the times I've pulled all-nighters in the last few weeks, I still have no idea where this blog is going. I think it derailed around the time I decided most other people sucked at taking pictures of me and that I was better off taking pictures of them. Which were better. And exactly the way I wanted them to be. My aspirations to higher fashion evaporated with the record-breaking triple-digit heat, which left me unable to do anything but preserve my vampiric paleness and bemoan.

I've discovered the joys of Photoshop and of being a workaholic and may just ship myself off to an Addicts Anonymous meeting one of these days. But other than that my summer has been not a summer at all. The decadent delights of lazily perusing a stack of classics as I sip my tea and float around the house in layers of white are lost to a yellow, lime green or black (only for Fridays) uniform tee and sports shorts as well as the dubious joy of many children all in one place. I can hardly finish reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, let alone start on something non-school-related, like Foucault's Pendulum.

So what I mean to say, with much beating around the bush, is that there is a huge, awesome idea waiting to conk me on the head. It just hasn't happened yet. To tide you over until my awesomeness comes along, prepare for a picture vomit: I've taken over 1000.

<3