My Robert.

Dear Fleur.
My little sister wants me to go to Breaking Dawn with her. But she only wants to go because our baby sister wants to go.
I am possibly in love with Robert Pattinson in the dorkiest way ever.
But not enough to waste six dollars to see him with amber coloured eyes.
No, I'll settle for secret pictures of him in my journal and love letters that I don't mail.

I registered for winter quarter this morning. 19 credits. 6 classes. That all adds up to loads of homework and the need for a new stash of Haney&Sons. College calls for copious amounts of tea. It's almost ungodly, the number of cups of Paris I have consumed.

Jenn comes tonight.

I have an essay to write today. Or at least get started on it. Also, presents to make. A lot of presents. I am kind of in a mess. My psychology class is making me mad. I need to make things to get over it. I really do. I was almost in tears last night. I was so mad. Honestly.
We were talking about transgender children.
I can't talk about that. And then cancer came up. I had recently unearthed an older story about cancer that I was writing once before. After I got it back out, I realized why I stopped writing it in the first place. Then in psych, well, I just need to stop with the cancer plot-lines. Forever.
I'll stick with the marriage ones. And this other new one I have. It concerns angels. And I think it should be a screenplay. Robert could be in it.

Now. I have to go get dressed. Finish a very important letter. Homework. Go buy some styrofoam balls. Hide the cancer story--maybe I'll throw it away. Mourn the still-lost screenplay I just thought of. More homework. Take Mandy out for coffee. Make things. Do French. And maybe write Robert. Again. (I'm going to have a stack of letters soon.)

I need ribbon.
Bells.