Blogger ate my post.

Blogger just ate my post. I'm so annoyed. Here's the post in a quick recap because it's too late and I'm too irritated to rewrite.

I went to Barnes and Noble today.
I bought an awesome and really inspiring magazine called Somerset Studio: The Art of Paper and Mixed-Media that made me want to do something with my hands but also made me lament the fact that I'm not one of those people who does my art everyday which led me to wonder why that is.
I've just finished Claudia Rankine's Don't Let Me Be Lonely: An American Lyric, and really enjoyed the passage that goes like this:

A father tells his son the thing he regrets most about his life is the amount of time he has spent worrying about it.

Worry 1. A dog's action of biting and shaking an animal so as to injury ore kill it, spec., a hound's worrying of its quarry; an instance of this. 2. A state or feeling of mental unease or anxiety regarding or arising from one's cares or responsibilities, uncertainty about the future, fear of failure, etc.; anxious concern, anxiety. Also, an instance of cause of this.

It achieved nothing, all his worrying. Things worked out or they didn't work out and now here he was, an old man, an old man who each year of his life bit or shook doubt as if to injure if not to kill, an old man with a good-looking son who resembles his deceased mother.

I loved it, and it reminds me of me. You should read Rankine's book.

The end. Stupid blogger.