"It was fun, but less than stellar."
Have truer words ever been spoken?
Clay Aiken is ugly.
I'm frizzy.
I've actually had two, almost three, nights like before all the romancy messes stumbled upon me. I'm not sure whether it's invigorating or unnerving, but I'm sure I'll let you know.
I taste of chicken broth.
Cinnamon twisty things sound good.
Still breathing.
Edit
I'm wondering whether or not I actually have anything to say. I feel less mushy and vulnerable, and really that's probably a good thing. I've started new projects, but I feel restless because I'm lacking materials to do the things I want. I actually stole some of my mother's markers that you put on glass and then bake to decorate, and took some jars and started decorating them with random patterns just to give my hands something to do.
Today was a lost day.
I didn't even really look out a window until it was already dark this evening. I've spent most of the day in my pajamas, periodically sleeping and staring at the ceiling. It passed quickly though. It seems as though it never existed.
More and more I've been sifting through the dynamics of my family and friends. More and more is occuring to me, and more and more it's making me irritated. Or sad. As I've said before, I think I'm sick of them. I'm getting the feeling that I had a long time ago. To go away to somewhere else, and maybe tell one person where I'm going, and that's all. Disappear for awhile. Be away. I could use that. It seems like I can never get away from my family.
Maybe this is just an age thing though. I wouldn't ever guess the 'phase' I am going through. Not that I ever could, mind you, just stating that I'll label this era later because momentarily I'm oblivious to what my reflections and feelings and indiscretions will add up to later, or add up together period.
I did the room cleaning thing, I did some excersise things, I painted my ceiling, earlier I even started painting my doorsill, but I have nothing close to the amount of materials I need to finish. I also painted the outlet cover next to my door. I played with the photos on my comp in my room. I twiddled with my camera. I tried to zone out and watch TV, but my brain isn't willing to be a mere spectator. I actually considered cleaning out the desk drawers but decided I didn't want to bring the boxes in from the other room because it might be too loud. So instead I'm here, typing away, whatever comes to mind because I've got no where to go, no where to be, and it's far too cold for me to go walking like I used to.
I don't know how I managed that last year. I think I was just so miserable I was secretly hoping I'd freeze to death. And I was hoping, on some level, I'd run into that old friend whose absence caused the misery to begin with. Of course, that's all over now.
I've read loads of the posts of New Years. The one or two posts that people make about how last year was or how this year should be or what happened last night.
It's officially the second day of '04, you know.
I'm not sure why this is all significant. I think my new year started a week or two before January first. That's when I started cleaning. Not just physically, but with people too.
God, I hate it when this happens. When I realize that I'm not just restless, that my mind is doing that retarded chattering thing and that I'm probably not going to get to sleep until 5 or 6 or even 7 tomorrow morning, and then get all of two hours asleep because the rustling doesn't stop. I'm not a big fan of waking up early and heading out to school, but at least it wears me out enough to sleep.
I want alcohol. Although, I'm not sure there's any change in attitude there.
Sleep sounds good.
Now if only the Sandman would come knocking.
P.S. If you didn't read all that, I don't blame you in any way.
I'm also one looking for the pretty (wordless) pictures. They make things so much easier (less complicated).
Clay Aiken is ugly.
I'm frizzy.
I've actually had two, almost three, nights like before all the romancy messes stumbled upon me. I'm not sure whether it's invigorating or unnerving, but I'm sure I'll let you know.
I taste of chicken broth.
Cinnamon twisty things sound good.
Still breathing.
Edit
I'm wondering whether or not I actually have anything to say. I feel less mushy and vulnerable, and really that's probably a good thing. I've started new projects, but I feel restless because I'm lacking materials to do the things I want. I actually stole some of my mother's markers that you put on glass and then bake to decorate, and took some jars and started decorating them with random patterns just to give my hands something to do.
Today was a lost day.
I didn't even really look out a window until it was already dark this evening. I've spent most of the day in my pajamas, periodically sleeping and staring at the ceiling. It passed quickly though. It seems as though it never existed.
More and more I've been sifting through the dynamics of my family and friends. More and more is occuring to me, and more and more it's making me irritated. Or sad. As I've said before, I think I'm sick of them. I'm getting the feeling that I had a long time ago. To go away to somewhere else, and maybe tell one person where I'm going, and that's all. Disappear for awhile. Be away. I could use that. It seems like I can never get away from my family.
Maybe this is just an age thing though. I wouldn't ever guess the 'phase' I am going through. Not that I ever could, mind you, just stating that I'll label this era later because momentarily I'm oblivious to what my reflections and feelings and indiscretions will add up to later, or add up together period.
I did the room cleaning thing, I did some excersise things, I painted my ceiling, earlier I even started painting my doorsill, but I have nothing close to the amount of materials I need to finish. I also painted the outlet cover next to my door. I played with the photos on my comp in my room. I twiddled with my camera. I tried to zone out and watch TV, but my brain isn't willing to be a mere spectator. I actually considered cleaning out the desk drawers but decided I didn't want to bring the boxes in from the other room because it might be too loud. So instead I'm here, typing away, whatever comes to mind because I've got no where to go, no where to be, and it's far too cold for me to go walking like I used to.
I don't know how I managed that last year. I think I was just so miserable I was secretly hoping I'd freeze to death. And I was hoping, on some level, I'd run into that old friend whose absence caused the misery to begin with. Of course, that's all over now.
I've read loads of the posts of New Years. The one or two posts that people make about how last year was or how this year should be or what happened last night.
It's officially the second day of '04, you know.
I'm not sure why this is all significant. I think my new year started a week or two before January first. That's when I started cleaning. Not just physically, but with people too.
God, I hate it when this happens. When I realize that I'm not just restless, that my mind is doing that retarded chattering thing and that I'm probably not going to get to sleep until 5 or 6 or even 7 tomorrow morning, and then get all of two hours asleep because the rustling doesn't stop. I'm not a big fan of waking up early and heading out to school, but at least it wears me out enough to sleep.
I want alcohol. Although, I'm not sure there's any change in attitude there.
Sleep sounds good.
Now if only the Sandman would come knocking.
P.S. If you didn't read all that, I don't blame you in any way.
I'm also one looking for the pretty (wordless) pictures. They make things so much easier (less complicated).