(no subject)

Oct 13, 2009 23:46

It's late, but I'm going to update my journal now.

Classes are well, life is well, my hair is well..

So what's really going on?
I don't know. That's kind of an issue, isn't it? I don't really know what's going on. Right now I'm watching my fish swim desperately back and forth. Pacing? Only, violently. And I kind of understand, because I feel like that's what's happening with me. But I'm not pacing. I'm being ripped and torn in a million different directions.

Where's it going? I'm not asking about life now. I'm asking about something else entirely.

Cryptic, cryptic.

God I like her.

Cryptic, cryptic.

I vaguely recall a time when things were much simpler. When I didn't spend every waking second (and probably every non-waking second) worrying about what you think of me. When you didn't walk over to me, and instead of telling you how I'm drawing pictures for Neuro and how I'm a terrible artist and etc etc, I barely manage to squeak out "I hate this class." Hello nerves? Can you go back into hiding please?

I'd like to personally thank my uterus for this entry.
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