I break at the bend
Boy, lj's being like OpenDiary and screwing me around. For some reason I can't leave notes on certain journals. What a cunt this thing insists upon being.
There are sms sex ads on tv at the moment. I'm half watching some Stephen King horror (of which Meg should be very proud) but it's crappy. Some guy was bleeding out of his eyes one moment, and the next (this is literally speaking) they were all dancing around singing some song and the bleeding eye guy was just fine. There is also a Seinfield marathon on and I tried watching it but no matter what, I cannot like it. I don't understand, apparently it's the funniest thing ever to be put on tv but in my opinion it couldn't be more boring and repetitive.
I'm in a weird mood after reading something about You in some girl's lj. It's weird to think that You still exist somewhere out there and You are leading a normal life and bragging about almost picking up three girls in one night. Madeleine says you're a different person but I disagree. I remember when You ran through the city chasing Sarah at full pelt, trying to whack her butt really fucking loudly. Then suddenly You were with me and You started mellowing out. Did I pull You down to my level and drag You through the gutter with me? Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that I cannot even express it. You're back to your old self and that's a great thing. I never wanted to change You, I simply wanted to love You. And I did. And I do. But none of that matters now.
I have nothing to say. My tattoo is scabby and cool and all I can smell is Bepanthen. I've joined some weirdo website thing where lots of Indian men are sending me messgaes. I don't like it but I will stay on there because there's only one way to spell 'substitution'. One of my little substitutions sent a text to Sarah wanting to catch up with us. No more drummers. Not to mention he got closer to my mortal enemy than I'd like to think about. No, I might as well go for Zac if I'm going to play it like this. I need to remain calm and not give myself a fucking time limit.
istillloveyoutravisjohnbrennan
Perched precariously on a window sill, she took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled dramatically. The smoke drifted off into the night, carried off by the gentle breeze. She half listened to the conversation of sex and boys and managed to half block it out of her head. She remembered in The Hours when Ed Harris is perched on his own window sill and he suddenly lurches backwards and falls to his long-awaited death. She looked down and saw the ground was all but half a metre away. It was a stupid idea anyway. This whole thing was stupid. What purpose did she have being in that room? The cigarette was burning almost to the butt now but still she sat. She tuned completely into the conversation and was confronted by vicious images of sex positions and graphic descriptions of the world's best orgasms. Outcast. Girl 1 tries to divert the conversation. Still on the window sill, lighting another cigarette, she wonders if Girl 1 could see the bitterness and self hatred in her eyes or if she simply wanted to change the subject to something she didn't spend 99% of her life talking about. Suddenly Girl 1 and Girl 2 are laughing hyterically at Boy. Something has happened while she was deep in thought and it seems all this talk about sex has excited them all a little too much. Turning her head out the window once more, she exhales deeply, as though trying to exhale all her sadness, and pretends to concentrate hard on the smoke drifting away. She wants either Girl 1 or Girl 2 to simply go away. She wants all this talk about the things she misses to go away. She wants people to find another topic of conversation for once and she wants people to learn to take a not-so-subtle hint.