(no subject)
Jeebus H. Christ on a bicycle. I just stopped rereading a bunch of my old LJ entries and... just... Jeebus!
What on earth has possessed me to post what I do in a public forum? Why hasn't anyone stopped me? ...damn. *considers deleting a few journal entries and making a few more private* Aww, hell. I'll keep 'em. I'd rather be honest and expose my utter plebiness for what it is.
It's kind of weird. Most of the people on my friends list are from fandoms that I'm interested in (barring my brother and UMBC scoobs) so reading my own journal makes me feel rather odd. I mean, why on earth am I posting private thoughts in a public forum when I have nothing to add to it? I mean... You're reading the entries of a woman who couldn't read Anne Frank's Diary because I HATE the journal-entry format, who finds the entire format as a literary genre (such as it is) to be incredibly trite. So why the hell am I propagating it?
Well, cause I'm an attention whore, duh.
I dunno. I think everyone likes to think that what goes on in their head or what happens to them is interesting. But do you know what happened to me today?
I slept till one thirty in the afternoon, my mother couldn't wake me up by calling me, though she tried three times, and she came in to find that I was sleeping in the same position she'd seen me in at ten. Seeing this, she called my name from the doorway, and apparently I didn't answer, so she SHOUTED my name, at which point I was prompted to raise my head and proclaim, (quite eruditely, I might add) "Whuh? Huh?" ...apparently, my mother thought I was dead.
Then I ate cereal for breakfast, went to the library, took out three books, two on music theory and one fantasy novel, went to Target and bought two shirts and the new Daniel Beddingfield CD. Went home. Vacuumed. Listened to CD while sitting on the front stoop while watching the sky grow dark and playing with my adorable dog. Had a Thanksgiving dinner, with stuffing and all, only without the random family members and the need to socialize. Surfed the internet. Was once again pleased that I only lurk in fandom.
*rereads* Hmph. Actually, the part about my mom thinking that I was dead IS pretty entertaining. I guess the lesson to be learned here isn't that I have nothing to say, only that in a public forum, one must learn to be a judicious editor.
Well, that and the fact that, lately, I have little to nothing to say about anything in a public forum. Read: nothing to say worth listening to. *shrugs* I've been working as a waitress and coming home exhausted--not that work isn't without it's rewards, but other then attempting to read a few books, I haven't been listening to new music, or watching cinema or TV--the things that I find thought-provoking.
...Or going to classes, for that matter. Which is making me feel as though my brain is atrophying, even though I'm learning things in a non-formal manner (the aforementioned books.)
Wow, I just wrote a whole lot of specious crap. That's the problem with typing fast and being a restless thinker--you get a whole lot of product and no quality.
...which leads me right back to the whole "why the fuck do I think I have anything worthwhile to say?" conundrum.
I just want to download the first Angel ep of the season (which I missed) and enjoy the HoYay. It's odd--most people are happiest and feel at their most constructive when they are living their lives and making money, but I feel the most useless when I'm at my most 'productive' and conventional. It's when I'm walking around, sulking, writing, thinking up things that I'm arrogant enough to think haven't been conceived before, that I feel my most useful. Which is normally the time when I'm most useless to everyone but me.
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. At this point, I'm even boring myself.
...you know, Andrea Bocelli's version of 'Ave Verum Corpus' really sucks. And I like Andrea Bocelli. Who the fuck producer told him to put this on a CD? This isn't a song meant to be sung by a man. It's mean to be sung by a soprano, or a choir, or better yet? A boy's choir, with the melody line sung by soprano EUNUCHS.
God, I'm such a fucking snob. I really, really am.
ARGH. I wanna sing. I just want to find some place where no one is and belt out music, but I can't hear it. I'm listening to some right now, but it's not reverberating. It's like my head has been filled with cement--I can't fill it with music, I can't feel anything with it. GAH. Is this what normal people feel like all the time? I can't stand it. I want to go back to being depressed. ANYTHING to break up the monotony. Is this what it's like to be an adult? Is NOTHING going to ever be new to me again? Will it all just become repetitive? Has everything great been written? I want to compose something. Someone give me a bass line that I can figure out, give me a sonnet form. I want to feel that I'm doing something other then making money and being my mother's sounding board.
I'm not even sick of me, because how can I be sick of not really doing anything at all? Can't you only become exhausted by accomplishing things? I slept till one-thirty in the AFTERNOON today. My mother thought I was dead.
I think that this is an awfully appropriate thought for my current state of mind. I am by no means unhappy, but this restlessness--this entropy, to put it better--makes me feel like I'm dead. I'm worthless, I'm another automaton.
Just another rotting, walking corpse that refuses to stay in the ground. Something only animated by others and only reacting.
Guh. Sometimes I think I felt better when I wanted to kill myself, because then at least I had death to look forward to.
Jesus. Even when I'm trying to be honest and figure myself out, all I can manage is pretentious shit. ...should I even friends-lock this crap? This is just a moment of self-pitying indulgence, I beg anyone who cares about me to remember that. Don't be concerned, I'm just useless and it bugs me...
But the whole "mom thinking I'm dead" thing?
Still entirely too apt for my tastes.
What on earth has possessed me to post what I do in a public forum? Why hasn't anyone stopped me? ...damn. *considers deleting a few journal entries and making a few more private* Aww, hell. I'll keep 'em. I'd rather be honest and expose my utter plebiness for what it is.
It's kind of weird. Most of the people on my friends list are from fandoms that I'm interested in (barring my brother and UMBC scoobs) so reading my own journal makes me feel rather odd. I mean, why on earth am I posting private thoughts in a public forum when I have nothing to add to it? I mean... You're reading the entries of a woman who couldn't read Anne Frank's Diary because I HATE the journal-entry format, who finds the entire format as a literary genre (such as it is) to be incredibly trite. So why the hell am I propagating it?
Well, cause I'm an attention whore, duh.
I dunno. I think everyone likes to think that what goes on in their head or what happens to them is interesting. But do you know what happened to me today?
I slept till one thirty in the afternoon, my mother couldn't wake me up by calling me, though she tried three times, and she came in to find that I was sleeping in the same position she'd seen me in at ten. Seeing this, she called my name from the doorway, and apparently I didn't answer, so she SHOUTED my name, at which point I was prompted to raise my head and proclaim, (quite eruditely, I might add) "Whuh? Huh?" ...apparently, my mother thought I was dead.
Then I ate cereal for breakfast, went to the library, took out three books, two on music theory and one fantasy novel, went to Target and bought two shirts and the new Daniel Beddingfield CD. Went home. Vacuumed. Listened to CD while sitting on the front stoop while watching the sky grow dark and playing with my adorable dog. Had a Thanksgiving dinner, with stuffing and all, only without the random family members and the need to socialize. Surfed the internet. Was once again pleased that I only lurk in fandom.
*rereads* Hmph. Actually, the part about my mom thinking that I was dead IS pretty entertaining. I guess the lesson to be learned here isn't that I have nothing to say, only that in a public forum, one must learn to be a judicious editor.
Well, that and the fact that, lately, I have little to nothing to say about anything in a public forum. Read: nothing to say worth listening to. *shrugs* I've been working as a waitress and coming home exhausted--not that work isn't without it's rewards, but other then attempting to read a few books, I haven't been listening to new music, or watching cinema or TV--the things that I find thought-provoking.
...Or going to classes, for that matter. Which is making me feel as though my brain is atrophying, even though I'm learning things in a non-formal manner (the aforementioned books.)
Wow, I just wrote a whole lot of specious crap. That's the problem with typing fast and being a restless thinker--you get a whole lot of product and no quality.
...which leads me right back to the whole "why the fuck do I think I have anything worthwhile to say?" conundrum.
I just want to download the first Angel ep of the season (which I missed) and enjoy the HoYay. It's odd--most people are happiest and feel at their most constructive when they are living their lives and making money, but I feel the most useless when I'm at my most 'productive' and conventional. It's when I'm walking around, sulking, writing, thinking up things that I'm arrogant enough to think haven't been conceived before, that I feel my most useful. Which is normally the time when I'm most useless to everyone but me.
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. At this point, I'm even boring myself.
...you know, Andrea Bocelli's version of 'Ave Verum Corpus' really sucks. And I like Andrea Bocelli. Who the fuck producer told him to put this on a CD? This isn't a song meant to be sung by a man. It's mean to be sung by a soprano, or a choir, or better yet? A boy's choir, with the melody line sung by soprano EUNUCHS.
God, I'm such a fucking snob. I really, really am.
ARGH. I wanna sing. I just want to find some place where no one is and belt out music, but I can't hear it. I'm listening to some right now, but it's not reverberating. It's like my head has been filled with cement--I can't fill it with music, I can't feel anything with it. GAH. Is this what normal people feel like all the time? I can't stand it. I want to go back to being depressed. ANYTHING to break up the monotony. Is this what it's like to be an adult? Is NOTHING going to ever be new to me again? Will it all just become repetitive? Has everything great been written? I want to compose something. Someone give me a bass line that I can figure out, give me a sonnet form. I want to feel that I'm doing something other then making money and being my mother's sounding board.
I'm not even sick of me, because how can I be sick of not really doing anything at all? Can't you only become exhausted by accomplishing things? I slept till one-thirty in the AFTERNOON today. My mother thought I was dead.
I think that this is an awfully appropriate thought for my current state of mind. I am by no means unhappy, but this restlessness--this entropy, to put it better--makes me feel like I'm dead. I'm worthless, I'm another automaton.
Just another rotting, walking corpse that refuses to stay in the ground. Something only animated by others and only reacting.
Guh. Sometimes I think I felt better when I wanted to kill myself, because then at least I had death to look forward to.
Jesus. Even when I'm trying to be honest and figure myself out, all I can manage is pretentious shit. ...should I even friends-lock this crap? This is just a moment of self-pitying indulgence, I beg anyone who cares about me to remember that. Don't be concerned, I'm just useless and it bugs me...
But the whole "mom thinking I'm dead" thing?
Still entirely too apt for my tastes.