Week after week, I essentially kill myself with work and school. I’m living the middle class life, and I don’t mind it. I like working for myself, and proving to the world that I can strive against the odds. Anyways, after a long week of deprived sleep and continuous hours of work, I decided to go out. Let loose for a night. I went with a group of people that I don’t necessarily know very well, with an exception of a few people. We were going to a typical valley party. I think I did a stellar job adapting to the surroundings that presented themselves to me. And that alone sometimes makes me feel like I don’t really have to worry about myself too much. I’m not trying to brag about myself in this way. I know that I’m not the most intelligent, or prettiest or most motivated. I know my flaws, and I know I have many. And I know my strengths, and I adapting is one of them. This, I feel opens many doors for me. It makes me wonder about my possibilities in this world. It makes me wonder where I can go. It makes me more confident in my decision to go into traveling nursing.
“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.”—Einstein (via birdharp) (via handsacrossthewater)
A: I don’t understand love at all. I even have trouble recognizing it sometimes. So far, all I know for sure is what love isn’t. It isn’t wholehearted devotion; it isn’t shared opinions; it isn’t ever at first sight; it isn’t blind; it isn’t glue; it isn’t a whirlwind; it isn’t real if it i…sn’t mutual; it isn’t one of life’s guarantees. I don’t even know if it lasts forever. That being said, I know that love exists. I see it between my aunts and uncles, shared by my fraud-mother and James’s fraud-father (That sounds strange.), and every single day, I see infinite love between my parents. Love is something to hope for.