Money can't buy happiness, but it'll sure pay for that dress on display at H&M.

They say that this is the year that will define who you're going to be for the rest of your life. I guess that means I'm going to be a scared, confused, frivolous little girl forever. Not that I mind or anything.

I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Don't know where life will take me (or even if I want it to take me wherever. Not quite sure I'm ready. Not sure of what I really want.

Honestly the only thing I'm really sure of is that I'm broke and I need a job.

And there's not a well in sight.

There's so much to say but nothing will come out. Like when the fire alarm at school goes off and people are attempting to push their way through the doors every-man-for-himself style, so no one makes it. Instead of doing the intelligent thing and organizing, everything gets jumbled up and some things get trampled and left behind. Survival of the fitest.

The flood gates have opened and not one drop is seaping out, and this thirst, this dry tongue, is waiting for the words to come and wet these lips again with the crisp taste of creation. And I know that one drop will do the trick. One simple word or thought will bring the moisture back and give me the power to speak again.

But nothing comes. Nothing. So I'm left, lying in bed writing about the only thing I can at the moment. The thirst.