I probably just ate half my weight in brownies, soaking in a warm bath for and hour and a half watching Breakfast at Tiffany's. Why is Holly so god-damned blind?! Paul is like the best thing for her. He cares about her and all her stupid quirky ways, all the stupid things she thinks a woman needs to do to get ahead in life. Shit, it seems being a woman in the early 1900's didn't mean educating yourself, learning how to take care of yourself, teach yourself how to earn an income and love yourself. no, I think self-value in that era really meant finding a rich man who would take care of you so you could fuck and party and never have to lift your pretty little fingers. And here is this penniless writer, who has nothing but his love to offer her, and she is so damn reluctant. Fuck that chick.
Great movie though.
To be honest, I should inform you that most days I begin writing an entry and often times don't finish for another week. I feel like I'm cheating in a way. Cheating myself for spacing the paragraphs with life, for allowing myself a pause between thoughts and the chance to really be sure of wanting to publish something onto the internet. But, I suppose when it's all put together in a neat, nice little post, nobody but me will know.
and I suppose this will be it for tonight.