Do you know that feeling? When you've been up too long and you're starting to lose your senses? I call it the state of being "Sleep-drunk". This is a time where you can get the god-forsaken brilliant idea to send a text to someone, only to wake up the next morning with extreme regret, or more optimistically, with a feeling of accomplishment and being way too impressed with yourself. Yesterday, I was sleep-drunk, and at the same time, facetiming with a girl I don't usually facetime with. This friend of mine had just started a blog recently, and so I thought to myself OUT LOUD, "Wouldn't it be great if I started one too and posted two great posts!?". My friend obviously jumped on that suggestion and said, "YES. YES YOU SHOULD".

It's now 10:30AM and I know I've made an abysmal choice. I don't bother looking at my blog until an hour and a half later, at which point I say,

"Wait... ... ... ...
I wrote this?"

Maybe this wasn't a bad idea after all: I had become impressed with myself (a little too much). My sleep-drunk self. Had it been good or not, I still began to think that I could make something out of this whole thing. That I should continue to develope this... THING.

Anyways, today's sketch is of Oliza: A lovely lady that stays up way too late every single day of the week, and kind of enjoys it... Until she wakes up. Good news about waking up, though: YOU CAN DO IT AGAIN! If you ever meet Oliza, make sure to give her a cozy, soft hug. She loves those. Treat her like your favourite plushy. She'll love you.

Crispy Times.

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Language. The very essence of so many things. Expression and romanticism can be shown in visual form, interpreted incredibly accurately when compared to using no language, and still only have scratched a surface of language. I love it. More importantly; I love English.

It's not always I get to use English: A language I find extreme comfort in, and one that I can always rely on. My feelings can spill fluently, with ease, and with relief. I just wish I could speak it with everyone I knew. Perhaps communication would be much less of a problem. I'd probably be better off. Cursed Sweden, for I live within you. Even if I lived in an English-speaking country, I would probably not find what I seek, though. Someone that I can share excellently communicated thoughts and expressions with. Someone who will ask me for my thoughts. If they are not asked for, they will never be shared, which is a shame. I quite enjoy sharing them once I have them. Not many of my closest friends care, though. None of my closest friends do. If my more distant friends would care to listen, I'd be too timid to start telling them, for story-telling is something I only do when at my most comfortable; when speaking English, with assurance that my audience can understand, interpret, and give valuable feedback. Unfortunately I sometimes lack the ability to give valuable information to begin with. I'm sighing like a furnace, for English seems like a lost love, ready to be rediscovered. I will try my best to find the someone that will help me rediscover him. Wish me luck.

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A favourite artist of mine told me that, when getting a new sketch-book, to prevent the pressure of ruin it, SCRIBBLE AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE ON THE FIRST PAGE! Bam. Can't ruin it anymore. Great advice. The point is not to keep the sketch-book perfect. Nor our stories. So, I'll just write some seemingly meaningless text here for you to read. You're welcome.

No stories. Just scribbles... But with words. Words are basically scribbles. Very complicated scribbles. Meaningful scribbles, sometimes. Just makes you think about other scribbles =.=

Scribbles.

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