Train comes and I'll know it's destination
Why is it that your own filth is so much better than everyone else's? How it's absolutely not bad to clean the toilet when you're the only one using it. I'm not very high maintenance but I prefer to have my own bathroom. Somewhere you can be sure no one's going to walk in on you while you're changing tampons. This is going to sound quite disgusting but it has always been bugging me. When you use a public bathroom, why do you bother to wash your hands? Fair enough, it's hygienic and people will give you odd looks if you don't but let's be honest here people, the moment you touch the door you gain germs from thousands of people who's been there before you, and I don't know about you, but I consider my ass to be cleaner than that. Wow, run on sentence. I just needed to get that out of my system. Feel free to enlighten me with all your medical knowledge now.
My brother is here and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. He also has this annoying habit of writing exactly what I feel but somehow isn't capable of putting into words. So from now on, I'll leave him in charge of informing all you good people about my life while I sit here and waste space talking about public restrooms. That was your cue to go add him. Even if you don't give two shits about me, he remains the most brilliant person I have ever met. james_haven. You owe it to yourself. Go, go, go.
I'm going to get a little serious now. My journals are going on sale in September. Who would have ever thought I'd be a published author, huh. It will be three journals from three different trips and I think you should look into them for two reasons. And no, one of them is not because I'm such an excellent writer. They are really written quite poorly because I was constantly overwhelmed and often in tears having to relive the events of the day. No, my reason is... every person has a story to tell. Most of the stories I heard were unbelievable. Both ways, both extremes. Of incredible courage or personal disasters that they told with a straight face because there were no more tears left. But my discovery had just started and there were days when I thought I couldn't stop crying and they comforted me. They comforted me. Because I listened, most of the time we didn't even understand each other, but it meant so much to them. My journals are their stories and my story combined. And the second reason is every cent it makes goes back to UN and those very people you read about.
I probably had more to write about but I forget and my bed looks very inviting right about now. I should start making lists or something but that would imply that I cared, right. Funny how a place where you used to be a regular suddenly changes and you're so out of the loop, you wonder if you ever can get back in.
My brother is here and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. He also has this annoying habit of writing exactly what I feel but somehow isn't capable of putting into words. So from now on, I'll leave him in charge of informing all you good people about my life while I sit here and waste space talking about public restrooms. That was your cue to go add him. Even if you don't give two shits about me, he remains the most brilliant person I have ever met. james_haven. You owe it to yourself. Go, go, go.
I'm going to get a little serious now. My journals are going on sale in September. Who would have ever thought I'd be a published author, huh. It will be three journals from three different trips and I think you should look into them for two reasons. And no, one of them is not because I'm such an excellent writer. They are really written quite poorly because I was constantly overwhelmed and often in tears having to relive the events of the day. No, my reason is... every person has a story to tell. Most of the stories I heard were unbelievable. Both ways, both extremes. Of incredible courage or personal disasters that they told with a straight face because there were no more tears left. But my discovery had just started and there were days when I thought I couldn't stop crying and they comforted me. They comforted me. Because I listened, most of the time we didn't even understand each other, but it meant so much to them. My journals are their stories and my story combined. And the second reason is every cent it makes goes back to UN and those very people you read about.
I probably had more to write about but I forget and my bed looks very inviting right about now. I should start making lists or something but that would imply that I cared, right. Funny how a place where you used to be a regular suddenly changes and you're so out of the loop, you wonder if you ever can get back in.