Today I am in school from 8 am to 7 pm and all I have to say is that no matter how tired you think you've been, somehow it's worse every morning.
And I don't even work night shifts or anything. I just have a demanding sleep cycle.

The 8 am class is given by a prof with a very mediative voice, so on the one hand I'm not violently ripped from my sleepy state, on the other hand I'm now tired and bored.

Why do we always have to "get some air" and throw all windows open? I honestly couldn't be wearing any more clothes (please watch Friends, it would make me happy). I have my sleeping leggins on under my boyfriend jeans and pink socks that show over my ankle boots and apart from that being a really bad look, I'm still freezing.

We have a six hour styling class and while that might sound fabulous, I've been dreading it all day. In fact, I'm dreading it right now as I sit here. I just hope I won't have to get up and do stuff. I wonder what's on today's lunch menu.

No one's more surprised than me, but I actually have something to say while we discuss a magazine analysis - see, I like to have a lot of important looking papers around me and my phone out and a notebook and to professionally take notes, even though I'm noting this instead of something to do with the topic. Anyways, I'm just blurting out my opinion because I find that's the whole secret, and whenever it comes to photography I keep quiet 'cause that is one cup of tea I shouldn't drink from.
Oh my, no one else is saying anything and I'm running out of opinions.

We've been pleading the prof to let us out early and he said we could go as soon as we got through with the tasks for today. I've been given the gift of hope, lovelies. Sadly, he's talking about his lack of a dating life right now and as much as I would absolutely love to hear everything about that in great detail at 9am when I have to be here anyways, I'd really rather be home while there is still daylight. I see my chances on that slimming because no, I don't care for your snowboarding lessons! Good God I was never so eager to learn about product cycles.

I'm doing fast pencil tapping now and the conversation still revolves around if he cheated on his ex or not. Oh, I think we're back on track now. Let's do this.

I swear, everyone here's got the attention span of a batch of puppies. I'm close to screaming with disappointment. Now he noticed my impatient pointing to the slides on the wall and starts lessoning. Good for him.

I hope you get let out early today, too.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I actually haven't been to that many big concerts in my life yet which is something I need to change, because I absolutely adore everything about them: The mess of wires and obscure constructions on the ceiling (I know they all do stuff but I like being oblivious), the lights, the people-filled floor, the adrenaline radiating from the people on stage....I went to one of my favorite nostalgic artists this friday; my loveliest friend and I discovered a long time ago that we shared an undying passion for a certain singer since, like, primary school, and we vowed to go see her in concert someday and unlike many "somedays", this one actually worked out! 

What to note before entering a concert: "Okay everyone LISTEN If one of us gets lost...." "Yeah?" "....we'll have to find each other"

Unexpected downer: When you don't realize that there's a no-food policy (why oh why?) and your loveliest friend has to throw her chocolate rolls away at the door and feels bad about the food waste and general world hunger for the rest of the night ("I told you we should have just stuffed them in our mouth right before we went in! Dare them to touch us!)


Unexpected upper (in the most literal sense): The DJ who supported the opening act was either supposed to be a pantomime and illustrate the songs or his,um, strong body movement was the result of a couple colorful coins....at one point he was so estatically waving, I was scared he might put out a shoulder joint. And the whole time he had the enchanted smile of one of these bald monks from Asia. It was awesome.

Obviously we managed to stand behind two of the tallest people I've ever seen, but good for them that they each found a partner their height. I could still see fine, though, and that brings us to the next point:

I crush way too easily on people on stages. The opening act would probably also look nice if you met him on the street, but as I saw him up there, he had the most incredible cheekbones, his squinty eyed expression was a sign of concentrated passion and his comfy clothes expressed not his laziness but the nonchalance of a true artist. I don't know, I can't help myself. The guitarist of the actual act didn't fail to make me swoon, as well, because of his serious skill - later, I saw a picture of him that didn't impress me at all. Maybe it's cause I see them all a bit slurry from far away. You know, airbrushed.

The main event itself, seeing that singer live, was just wonderful: She has such an amazing,jazzy voice and still manages to be all bubbly and jumpy and sweet. Kinda wanns go again.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Do you ever text something feeling like you really got your point across, congratulating yourself on being so spot-on and eloquent and not at all whiny? And do you ever press "send" thinking well, this is so greatly phrased it's no big deal at all? And then, do you stare at your lock screen while waiting for the reply and start to doubt the fact that your message was your very own glad tiding to the person who received it? I did all these things. Truth be told, I'm sitting cross legged on my bed as I'm writing this and I'm nervously glancing at my phone every thirty seconds because actually, I'm not too sure as to what I wrote anymore. I mean, I really don't remember my supposedly excellent wording. So the possibility of it not being so excellent but rather totally not reasonable in relation to what I was replying to does come up (oh my God now it's buzzing with Twitter notifications and it's making me crazy). I swear I don't realize the sheer amount of possible accusations hidden within my cheery messages until I actively make them up. It's a thin line between "perfectly calm and alright" and "

DANG IT now a WhatsApp notification comes up and it's this sweet boy whose birthday I went to last year and he is inviting me again and now I feel a) old and b) uncomfortably reminded of that one guy whose jacket I was accidentally wearing (read up on that here).

Oh, here comes the real reply. Get ready.

TWO LAUGHING SMILEYS. Is he kidding me? Is that all he has to say to my passionate, censored, explosive speech? It wasn't even meant to be funny, except for the last sentence I put there to kinda buff things out. Maybe I shouldn't waste time on inventing buffers when clearly, they ruin the purpose of everything they're supposed to buff out.

Now, what do I respond to that.

I started to write "my inability to do capital letters with the new phone or my interpretation of the destiny of messenger services, what's so funny?" but I settled for "what?" instead. Obviously, my lovingly constructed puns are not getting us anywhere here.

Oooh he's typing. Why can't I ANOTHER FREAKING GROUP CHAT

Love,

Rosy Smith

So I need to get going in an hour which means I gotta get ready in about twenty minutes 'cause I celebrate that process as much as the going-out part. I'm done with the first week of the semester and it was....endurable, even though it took some strength.

See, the one good thing that could be said about our private school, where white Apple products are a religion and ootd instagram posts the prayer, was the fact that we had free wifi and a mirror in the elevator. This week, however, both these gifts were cruelly taken from us, all at once. I had been in for barely thirty seconds when I realized that and got ready to turn around and leave. But I'm a good girl, so I stayed and tried to make the most of it, which wasn't much; the workshop I had was about local journalism and we were supposed to find something interesting going on in the city (pick the one thing. Goodness)  to write about. A connection to the internet would've surely helped us there.

I just had to google the third Jonas Brothers's name. Kevin it is. Like the one in Home Alone, he seems to be easily forgotten.

In other news, I got a new phone, and I tried to download Twitter (also, where can I sign that petition for Snapchat for Windows? Tell me it's not just a myth!) and I think I got to a point in my life where I need to write down my passwords. Just when I think of one for the Microsoft account I have to confirm that by checking my googlemail and I obviously don't remember how to get in there so I have to reset that by clicking on the link in another email in a different account....Let's say it took me  a while. Now I got the four apps that I actually use, but I still have to get used to the sheer size of the phone; I'm still in that phase where dropping it seems like dropping a newborn baby, because it is still so, well, unbroken. That will pass, too, I know.

It's a beautifully sunny Sunday,the first flowers of the year are out and my eyes are watering with the first cold of the year, just in time. Along with my hair proteins, my iron supplements and my dose of cranberry, I have three cold fighters nicely lined up in a pile on the table, reminding me of my late grandparents (except they were in their eighties when they had aquired this level of pills. Well.). I'm not a defender of the "meds don't help when you have a cold" theory, unlike some people. People who will, since they never take stuff to make them feel better and end up feeling like crap when they're sick, certainly avoid me if they find out that I am, so one more reason to eliminate this nuisance as fast as I can.

Hope your weekend runs smoothly and without the need for a tissue.

Love,

Rosy Smith

That's what I want right now. See, school starts on Tuesday, so I'm not having the Monday Blues yet; Today, instead, I am craving excitement to feel like I really made use of the free time that I had. Problem is, it's half past one in the afternoon already and I haven't done more than have breakfast, read a shallow Irish novel (I have about fourteen of them and they all start a bit boring by introducing about five different women, get a little better once you get into the story, then take a dramatic turn in the form of someone getting very sick, someone cheating/being cheated on, and someone's dark past catching up to them. Just when you think everyone's finally back on track, another life-changing event befalls at least one woman and the others, who didn't know each other before but are now a close circle of friends, help her get through it once more. The end) and send off another unsolicited application into the cyberspace. Not exactly an unforgettable morning.

I'm so restless, lovelies - Quick, tell me what there is to do to except painting my nails a horrid color? I have strived for a self-care pamper day and ended up unsatisfied, in leggins, and with the smell of acetone up my nostrils, often enough in an attempt to spice up the day without plans, thank you very much.

Okay it's 4 pm and I have made the heavy decision of letting go of the perfect tie-up boots I saw on ebay because sometimes in life, you just have to face the hard facts and accept that they are never gonna be in stock in my size again. Plus, I just saw that there's a 30 percent shipping fee and that is just plain rude. So I went and looked for another kind of tie-ups, namely those which remind me of the heroine of an old Western (or a Lucky Luke comic), and I found some that actually look pretty comfortable and shiny and I want those now. Tragically, I also want the same ones with a more pointy, uncomfortable seeming heel, but I thought to myself "When I'm a real grown-up with my own money, I'm gonna buy every single version of every beautiful shoe I want and fill a room with them" and that comforted me a bit. I wouldn't describe myself as especially greedy, but impractical footwear somehow has me voraciously stack my belongings and growl at everyone who dares to touch them. It's quite a charming quality of mine.

That's it, I'm going to buy myself those shoes as a Back To School gift for myself and I might even get a new phone while I'm at it and then I'm gonna unpaint my nails because they are sheer travesty and then I'm going to set up a date to have something to look forward to. No, not the one my certain someone just suggested. See, he asked for Tuesday which is when I have the only responsibility I have managed to carry out so far, church magazine. In fact, I'm pretty sure I missed the last meeting without excuse, so I sent them an apologetic email yesterday asking to come to the next one, and cancelling this time, I fear, wouldn't exactly redeem my impression.

Sounds like a plan, doesn't it?

Love,

Rosy Smith