With her heart heavy still

With her heart heavy still

I just got home from Briana's, where we ate dark chocolate covered pretzels and looked at yearbooks from middle school and talked about books and tumblr and right now I'm listening to Jack's Mannequin and I have this headache that I'm pretty sure is the resurgence of the one I woke up with this morning.  My roommate messaged me on Facebook and said that our room has orange walls and purple doors and I think that next year is going to be full of headaches, and also, holy crap, I'm going to college on Wednesday.  My love affair with pop-tarts has reached this point where I am seriously considering emailing my HA and asking her if there is a toaster on our floor.  Is that ridiculous?  I'm pretty sure it's ridiculous.

The other day when I was packing my books, I flipped through The Elements of Style and I saw a note about how you're not supposed to use too many qualifiers, but I very much kinda a lot enjoy qualifiers.  And so I'm going to use them all over the place if I want to.  Because how else am I supposed to express that I really kind of have no idea what I'm talking about?