This is What I have to Work With

This is what I have to work with.

And it's not going well, folks. I'm overwhelmed. I have everything (as you can see), but I just have no idea how to go about cramming it all into my suitcase. I don't want to be the girl wearing the same shirt day after day, but I also don't want to be the girl who can't hoist her suitcase off the baggage carousel without the help of four large German men in lederhosen.

Furthermore, I think Wordpress may have some sort of vendetta against me. I think it knows I also have a Blogger, because I strongly suspect that it is purposefully making itself difficult to navigate. It doesn't really matter anyway, though, because I still haven't thought of a name for my travel blog! I want something clever, yet specific to the purpose of that blog (i.e. describing my European adventures). And if you suggest I name it My European Adventures, I may have to make an Oompa Loompa my Person of the Week for the next year just to spite you.

Here are the current options:
Salzburged (too violent sounding? And it makes me think of burgers which is kind of off-topic)
Holly Goes to Europe (too immature sounding? It's not very subtle...)
Rick Steve Ain't Got Nothin On Me, Dog
Holly's Von Trip (I'm officially fooling around now. Sorry.)

Is There Anyone Alive Out There?

Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever reads this blog. I don't mean familiar anyones, but strangers. Late night anyones who landed on this blog and decided to take a second look for some strange reason. Anyones who are interested in the musings of a nineteen-year-old college student who sometimes thinks that she's F. Scott Fitzgerald, and sometimes thinks that she's an Oompa Loompa (destined to sing and work for a man in purple all her life).

You see, I'm not sure exactly why I write this blog, but I suspect that it has something to do with you anyones. You give me hope, I guess. You make me feel like what I'm writing does matter, and maybe not just to me. Because the stuff I write in this blog, this stuff is who I am. This is my voice. This is what I sound like when I'm talking in a large room by myself. This is what the inside of my brain looks like.

I know exactly what I want to do with my life. I want to write and write and write and then I want people to tell me that my writing is good enough that I can just continue to do it forever. I've told you that I love to write before, I know. Writing is the hardest thing in the world, but it's the most beautiful and powerful thing in the world also. Maybe you don't feel the same about writing, dear anyones, but everyone feels this way about something.

This rant must end. Truthfully, it probably should have ended at Oompa Loompas, but I've never been one to know where to end things.

(The End)