<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635335484843440261</id><updated>2011-04-21T17:24:05.747-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Life of Jane</title><subtitle type='html'>Jane &gt; me
Fantasy &gt; Reality</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The Life of Jane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06346173272524659364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>5</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635335484843440261.post-1453946828133223381</id><published>2007-11-26T10:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T10:28:24.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eye Red Red</title><content type='html'>Literally too.&lt;br /&gt;my eyes are so bloodshot that I swear they were pulsing on their own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the figurative part..&lt;br /&gt;cue the song by Twins:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zw6K4XW1W8U"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zw6K4XW1W8U&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;perfect song to listen to while you are crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how there is so much songs to fit your one mood.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4635335484843440261-1453946828133223381?l=masterdonna.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/feeds/1453946828133223381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4635335484843440261&amp;postID=1453946828133223381' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/1453946828133223381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/1453946828133223381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/2007/11/eye-red-red.html' title='Eye Red Red'/><author><name>The Life of Jane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06346173272524659364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635335484843440261.post-8860978442213639739</id><published>2007-11-03T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-03T22:34:18.528-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fallin' in Love</title><content type='html'>I miss that feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not really sure Rob and I are considered as anymore. What do you called one boy and one girl who are good friends and hang out alot, and although the boy wanted to be more than friends, the girl just doesn't feel that way any more? I know many still refer to him as my "boyfriend", but those are also the same who are expecting us to get back together like we always do. Just not this time. This time, it stays the way it is. We are friends. Nothing more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I miss, was not the old him or even the good old days where we weren't fighting, instead, it was the feeling I got when I first started crushing. The whole tongue-tied, nervous laughter and faux nonchalant mess that I become whenever he *walks into the room. I like how he*'s got me "trippin', stumblin', flippin', fumblin 'Clumsy 'cuz I'm fallin' in love". The feeling where you feel as if he was absolutely perfect (though that he before he started showing his real side).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And by all that, I don't mean just Rob (the ex), I meant all guys I've ever happened to liked the past oh say 15 years or so.  I'm a pretty emotional person, so when I fall, I fall hard. And that feeling is the best feeling ever... (even better when they return the feeling, though that is just leading into another set of ranting) until they reject you. Then, it turns out, when you fall hard, you land hard too. Right into a solid chunk of concrete with barbed wires sticking out and a time bomb ticking away at the end of the wire. But if you ask me, it is still worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*the given subject depending on the time and year&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4635335484843440261-8860978442213639739?l=masterdonna.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/feeds/8860978442213639739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4635335484843440261&amp;postID=8860978442213639739' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/8860978442213639739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/8860978442213639739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/2007/11/fallin-in-love.html' title='Fallin&apos; in Love'/><author><name>The Life of Jane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06346173272524659364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635335484843440261.post-729883528787688606</id><published>2007-10-13T09:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-13T09:58:28.543-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing the Part</title><content type='html'>I'm not sure if my parents are secretly that naive or do they seriously just turn a blind eye to it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4635335484843440261-729883528787688606?l=masterdonna.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/feeds/729883528787688606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4635335484843440261&amp;postID=729883528787688606' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/729883528787688606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/729883528787688606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/2007/10/playing-part.html' title='Playing the Part'/><author><name>The Life of Jane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06346173272524659364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635335484843440261.post-2528435010286851799</id><published>2007-10-12T07:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T07:15:44.299-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What happened to my warmth?!</title><content type='html'>I used to be the warmest person out there. Ask my mother. Ask my ex. Ask anyone. I never get cold in the fall and I had survive the entire winter with nothing heavier than a windbreaker. But now... I am shivering and freezing in a mere 59 degreee weather! What is wrong with me?! What happened to my warmth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was chilled to the bone on my block walk to my locker. As I was leaving my locker, I stopped to talked with a worker there and made small talk with her. I left my locker room with a smile on my face as I entered back into the cold. However this time, I can barely feel the cold. So was that the secret to my warmth? Was I just so happy for the last couple winters that I could not feel the sting of the cold?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4635335484843440261-2528435010286851799?l=masterdonna.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/feeds/2528435010286851799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4635335484843440261&amp;postID=2528435010286851799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/2528435010286851799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/2528435010286851799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/2007/10/what-happened-to-my-warmth.html' title='What happened to my warmth?!'/><author><name>The Life of Jane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06346173272524659364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635335484843440261.post-152002636579381249</id><published>2007-10-10T17:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T17:56:24.824-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Goal for Today:</title><content type='html'>1. Stop deledadoling on the Internet and do my Chem &amp;amp; English homework.&lt;br /&gt;2. Find out if "Deledadoling" is in fact a real word.&lt;br /&gt;3. Find out if "Deledadoling" is spelled correctly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4635335484843440261-152002636579381249?l=masterdonna.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/feeds/152002636579381249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4635335484843440261&amp;postID=152002636579381249' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/152002636579381249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4635335484843440261/posts/default/152002636579381249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://masterdonna.blogspot.com/2007/10/my-goal-for-today.html' title='My Goal for Today:'/><author><name>The Life of Jane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06346173272524659364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
