sick and sad
Sick still, my nose has turned red and I'm thinking that it might be permanent unless I can stop blowing my nose every fricken two seconds.
I got the Thursday cd from Beth, putting it in right now...ok, it's in.
Here's part of the story I'm writing:
The steady stream of cars outside her window kept Emily amused, but only for a moment. The fact that all those people were stuck in their methodical, cyclic life, that each morning these imitations of real living went to their offices, stared into computer screens, defended the rightly accused for money (forgetting or just not caring about morals), returning home just to mindlessly watch television and fill their bodies with waste that would stack up in their theighs (giving them yet another matter to complain about), and then return the next day to do the same thing was sick, but amusing. Of course these 'people' would argue that they went to parties, lunches, gatherings, and such things, perhaps knowing but trying to forget that each one was as unchanging as the next.
But this thought only entertained Emily for a moment.
She was working on a poem about the illusions of love, how people never really love eachother, or if they're positive they do, they're blinded by hormones and will 'love' someone else. Emily hated how people talked about 'their first love.' It it truly was love, it would be the only love, long and lasting forever, yet still blinded by nature's way of staying populated.
well yeah, that's only part of it, and i have the whole thing planned out but i don't want to put any more in, the rest isn't really that good.
sooooo, i better go do some stuff...
I got the Thursday cd from Beth, putting it in right now...ok, it's in.
Here's part of the story I'm writing:
The steady stream of cars outside her window kept Emily amused, but only for a moment. The fact that all those people were stuck in their methodical, cyclic life, that each morning these imitations of real living went to their offices, stared into computer screens, defended the rightly accused for money (forgetting or just not caring about morals), returning home just to mindlessly watch television and fill their bodies with waste that would stack up in their theighs (giving them yet another matter to complain about), and then return the next day to do the same thing was sick, but amusing. Of course these 'people' would argue that they went to parties, lunches, gatherings, and such things, perhaps knowing but trying to forget that each one was as unchanging as the next.
But this thought only entertained Emily for a moment.
She was working on a poem about the illusions of love, how people never really love eachother, or if they're positive they do, they're blinded by hormones and will 'love' someone else. Emily hated how people talked about 'their first love.' It it truly was love, it would be the only love, long and lasting forever, yet still blinded by nature's way of staying populated.
well yeah, that's only part of it, and i have the whole thing planned out but i don't want to put any more in, the rest isn't really that good.
sooooo, i better go do some stuff...