Well, it's that time of year again: finals have come, and Yana is procrastinating.
There's a certain height of desperation that comes with the end of the semester, when piles of work throw themselves at me and I have no idea where to begin, so I just don't. Suddenly, article headlines like "What Happened to Lee Harvey Oswald's Wife?" and "The One Smell Women Can't Resist" become the most interesting thing in the world. Instead of reading Albert Camus, I decide to google pictures of him instead (and yes, he was pretty attractive).
At least it's December, so I can listen to my Christmas Pandora playlist.
I feel sad that I don't blog anymore. For months, I refused to even log in. I pretended that this blog didn't exist, even though I secretly wished that I could write here the way I did a year or two ago.
I don't know guys. I could never delete this blog, and I could never stop blogging completely. I would never let it die, but I have nothing to say. Suddenly, it seems dumb to write about 2 AM tea parties with my two best friends/dorm neighbors, or extended rants about department stores playing twenty covers of five different Christmas songs. I'll figure it out eventually.
For now, treat yourself to a picture of a Christmas pig.
Aw.
