Loving Tippy and my Nose

I love being alone. I could SO handle solitary confinement - not that I'd ever do something that would land me there. I like having space to breathe and room to run around uninhibited (in my underwear) and belt out any and every tune that comes to mind. I love being with Tippy, which sounds incredibly stupid, but you have to chill with 'er to know. She's just that cool. Very hardcore. Ha ha ha. So yes, I love my dog and hanging out with her all day since no one else is home to ruin our fun, but now I have two things to love: Tippy AND my nose. Or rather, my nose RING. Ah, yes. I love it. And it's kinda fun to do something semi-spontaneous for once. Ha ha, the best part is that my parents don't know about it. Ohhh, such a rebel. Somehow that makes me like it even more...I'm pretty sure they won't be too keen on it, and Beth'll hate me 'cause she'll be jealous, but oh well. Actually, that -again- makes me like it even more! Plus I've wanted it for SOOO long, so it's about time. I was like, "hey Carey, wanna take me to Schmatta and get a piercing?" She was like, "Sure, as long as I don't have to get anything." And so we went. She was surprised I didn't think it hurt more, but you know, I'm just wicked awesome is all. Mmhmm.
The only weird part about it is trying to soak your nose in solution, because you end up soaking half your face. Oh well, it's probably really good for the rest of your pores anyway. I am such a loser. But at least I'm a loser with a nose ring! Suck on that!

Interestingly Enough...

Passion is a funny thing. It can lift mountains, but it can crush the one who's lifting. It can bring two beings together, or wrench them apart. Passion is a slippery sort of thing, for it can easily turn into madness, which can be messy. It can take on many roles: passion for life, for love and peace, passionate curiosity, which, in the end, killed the cat. It can also slide so seductively into place that you hardly know it's there until you've crossed the line and think, "my God, what happened?" Sometimes it fools you into thinking that the opposite of passion is death, but they can be implicit, one and the same. A person's passion, their fire for whatever it is they burn for, can in fact turn on and into itself and die, leaving only the fragile ashes that before could have been the building blocks to some great epiphany, but now lay silent, in mourning over the loss of themselves and their sight.

'Tis interesting to see what comes to mind late at night.