Livejournal - where discarded Facebook statuses go to die.
And here's mine for tonight/this morning.
Heather wishes she had not just sat and watched 'Love Actually' because she now feels rather too depressed for words for a multitude of reasons.
And there are a multitude of reasons it's not going on Facebook.
Make of that what you will, you'll get no more from me.
(Sorry if that sounds rude/blunt, but I'd rather be honest, and I'm not in a sharing mood. Sym/empathise as you will or nay, I don't mind).
Also, Numb3rs intrigued me today with giving me a piece of Siegfried Sassoon war poetry I didn't recognise. It's good, so I quote it here. (Thus making this post more than pointless self-pity).
At the end of the S3 Finalé, Charlie and Don's father recited the last two stanzas of Siegfried Sassoon's "The Death-Bed." The writers omitted the last three lines of the first stanza below.
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He’s young; he hated War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.
Heather wishes she had not just sat and watched 'Love Actually' because she now feels rather too depressed for words for a multitude of reasons.
And there are a multitude of reasons it's not going on Facebook.
Make of that what you will, you'll get no more from me.
(Sorry if that sounds rude/blunt, but I'd rather be honest, and I'm not in a sharing mood. Sym/empathise as you will or nay, I don't mind).
Also, Numb3rs intrigued me today with giving me a piece of Siegfried Sassoon war poetry I didn't recognise. It's good, so I quote it here. (Thus making this post more than pointless self-pity).
At the end of the S3 Finalé, Charlie and Don's father recited the last two stanzas of Siegfried Sassoon's "The Death-Bed." The writers omitted the last three lines of the first stanza below.
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He’s young; he hated War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.