Music lends me its peace, Pavlin lends me security, and writing lends me reassurance. I have it made in this world, it's just a matter of realizing it. So what if this type of reality rests on a fairy wing? As long as I can conjure up strings to suspend it there, life can't be all that bad. Gatsby, you had it going on, misled romantic that you were. Your green light was a go, had you taken a moment to interpret it.

Uncertainty isn't optional but the worry that accompanies it is usually subject to your discretion. Filter the types of frustration you allow into your system and your sanity will thank you for it. This public service message brought to you by your friendly neighborhood neurotic, who by the way has been spending the past few weeks tirelessly worrying about equally neurotic parents, a scarcely funded college education, and megasporocytes. All this on top of Life, the Universe, and Everything.

At the risk of losing my boyfriend (who constantly reminds me of my upcoming death by cookies), I am declaring a fervent love of caffeine, the taste of which is perpetually present at the back of my tongue. Baby, it's not addiction if Starbucks is still one espresso shot away from erecting a statue of you in front their Maple street store. 'Til then, it's a mocha macchiato party like you don't even know.

I'd throw  a peace out to you folks but I never really understood that colloquialism in a grammatical sense. So instead I'll stop being a nerd and wish you peace anyway because them hippies were actually on to something and maybe one of these days we just might be able to catch up.