"it's in my honey, it's in my milk."

'High Violet'--The National's youngest offspring--is delectably delicious, and I've recently learned to cope with my insatiable need for a daily listen or two, three, four, five, six, or seven. The National was a band I vaguely knew about until having fallen in love with a super-fan. "You just made yourself available," he dedicated, and upward soared my curiosity about painstakingly sad songs for painstakingly dirrty lovers (despite nearly having been unjustly labeled a whore). Thanks, The National, for finely-accentuating the sorrow within my life, and making it feel so damn good.
In case you've yet to notice; my name is Amanda, and this be my venting vault. I've packed away every other post save for what your prying eyes have now (possibly) successfully perused. Enjoy this publicly-private journal sans lock and key.