or maybe a better word would be obscure, as in faint, unclear, distant;

Appetite has been... not normal of late. Not normal being whacky and just monstrous. In line with my moody broodings on when would be the best time to get my nose pierced (would it hurt very much?) or where would be the best place for a tattoo and what will I tattoo. That's when I'm not freaking out over how bad my basics are (patho? seriously?) or stressing out over electives/projects.

Went down to the blood donation drive a week ago by myself. Thought I would conquer my fear of needles and help save some lives. Sadly, travel history was a contraindication. But that shall be one of my goals for this year. To become a regular blood donor. Or as the blood bank puts in, a champion blood donor.

So I replaced the black and white pictures on my wall with  overexposed/oversaturated/overhighlighted tinted shots. Still left some monochrome about though. I do like my monochrome.

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2. WHAT I AM NOT

My brother and I used to play a game. I'd point to a chair. "THIS IS NOT A CHAIR," I'd say. Bird would point to the table. "THIS IS NOT A TABLE." "THIS IS NOT A WALL," I'd say. "THAT IS NOT A CEILING." We'd go on like that. "IT IS NOT RAINING OUT." "MY SHOE IS NOT UNTIED!" Bird would yell. I'd point to my elbow. "THIS IS NOT A SCRAPE." Bird would lift his knee. "THIS IS ALSO NOT A SCRAPE!" "THAT IS NOT A KETTLE!" "NOT A CUP!" "NOT A SPOON!" "NOT DIRTY DISHES!" We denied whole rooms, years, weathers. Once, at the peak of our shouting, Bird took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he shrieked: "I! HAVE NOT! BEEN! UNHAPPY! MY WHOLE! LIFE!" "But you're only seven," I said.” 

   The History of Love.