I can’t sleep, and I have no idea why.
Seems like the busier my days are, the less sleep I get and the longer some weird adrenaline keeps me going. Ice cream sales were simply FANTASTIC today, I’m so glad that so many people kept coming back for more! Just as amazing were the people who couldn’t eat the icecream but decided to donate anyway. Anyway, now that we’ve some money, we can proceed on with much more confidence. 
Now for my wonderful and fantastic AEP class to churn out shoe designs for our SL’s part 2! 
Anyway I don’t even know why I’m recounting my day :/ It seems like such a boring thing to do and read 10 years from now. I’ll just random from here on.
I’ve been rereading some of the books I’ve read before! Finished Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury — for the third time haha. Each time I read it I find it absolutely fascinating, Bradbury’s imagination just blows me away. And there’s this funny sensitivity too, somehow his language flows in such a matter-of-factly manner, it really creeps me out in some parts — he doesn’t bother overloading his chronicles with emotions, but rather attempts to pull it out of his reader.
It reminds me of Fausty’s poetry, which I find amazing as well (click on her link on my sidebar!!)
I’ve always been really impressed by good writing — this includes both famous people and my peers — something similar to the way I’m impressed by good music, though that seems to hit an altogether different emotional spot for me. Usually just lie in awe reading/listening haha — which is a completely different reaction I have towards good art; I usually spend quite some time staring at it on a micro/macro level before actually deciding whether it’s good or not. Often I’m really critical about it; asking myself if I’m anywhere near the same level of questioning or technique and whether or not the work deserves my attention. It’s like both a depressing and yet inspirational process. Sometimes the mental turmoil really drives me crazy, because I see the work too much in relation to myself and my own work. For some reason the “Could I do the same if I wanted?” question keeps coming up — I’m not suggesting to imitate something, but to achieve the same virtuosity or genius as someone else. This questioning is something I do much less for music and literature — though I would say I love them almost as equally as art. This whole thing really makes me irritated sometimes. :/
Bahhhhhhhhh! I shall go off to sleep now though my head is spinning with all these thoughts ><