this really has become my journal hasn't it... darn... i want miso soup.

i could never afford a house like i want unless i marry a contractor or a rich person. or a rich contractor.
or just marry the kind of person my campers predicted for me.
you see, there's this blonde surfer named Phil from Hawaii. He's a masseuse by trade, has a, *ahem,* cute butt, and surfs like this
*pretends to surf while moving hips as if to keep a hula hoop moving*
he is the prince of India and sadly his people will never accept me because i'm not one of them...
blonde, tan skin not brown, prince of india, got it.


...


so. random.


the campers were also planning on finding me a husband at the water park we went to.
luckily they forgot that...
with one exception.
'hey, that blonde dude was checking you out! i wonder if his name is Phil!'
'come back here! we are NOT asking him if his name is Phil!'
haha, i love camp, i was just so tired by the end of it...




back to the vague point:


i think i associate so much with a house...
i just now realized how much i daydream about watching the sun go down on my front porch, reading a book by a sunny window, waking up with enough time to read the newspaper while having some orange juice in the morning, feeling the flowers with the dew on them in the morning, jumping up slightly for joy at the feel of the life...


*smiles ridiculously*


i can feel it now...


*sigh*


at least a garden.