"My retinas were burnt off in the accident"
Ehhh. Oh God.
I'm noticing more and more the odd reactions I have towards embarrasing situations. I mean, if I cause them, I'm all for them, but if they're inadvertant, they burn my soul with shame. I suppose it makes a species of sense, but it's an angry, strange species with ugly teeth and bad hair.
I think I should probably give this thing up, eh? I mean, not reading OTHER journals and enjoying, in a worryingly voyeuristic way, what other people type, but typing things into mine. I rarely do anyway, and it occurs to me that I end up just talking to myself in a slightly more restrained way than usual. Maybe a pen and paper journal would facilitate more honesty?
Doubt it. I mean, in the first instance, my handwriting looks like an army of drunken ants urinating their way to Reno. And beyond that... eh. Possibly it's just my own special breed of madness... but writing with the vague sense that SOMEONE may read what I write... gives me a sense that I'm actually communicating with someone. When I write only for me, to me, I feel the exercise to be so pointless that I become violently judgmental of my own long-windedness. As a good friend of mine once said 'AAAAAAA-MEEEEEN!'
No one else ever get that feeling?
I'm noticing more and more the odd reactions I have towards embarrasing situations. I mean, if I cause them, I'm all for them, but if they're inadvertant, they burn my soul with shame. I suppose it makes a species of sense, but it's an angry, strange species with ugly teeth and bad hair.
I think I should probably give this thing up, eh? I mean, not reading OTHER journals and enjoying, in a worryingly voyeuristic way, what other people type, but typing things into mine. I rarely do anyway, and it occurs to me that I end up just talking to myself in a slightly more restrained way than usual. Maybe a pen and paper journal would facilitate more honesty?
Doubt it. I mean, in the first instance, my handwriting looks like an army of drunken ants urinating their way to Reno. And beyond that... eh. Possibly it's just my own special breed of madness... but writing with the vague sense that SOMEONE may read what I write... gives me a sense that I'm actually communicating with someone. When I write only for me, to me, I feel the exercise to be so pointless that I become violently judgmental of my own long-windedness. As a good friend of mine once said 'AAAAAAA-MEEEEEN!'
No one else ever get that feeling?