Prattle
So it's been forever since I've posted. Why is this not a surprise?
I'm not really sure what I have to say. Sorry I didn't post any of those photos I said I would - but they're on my mother's computer and I keep forgetting to get them from her. I am a lazy slob.
I've been reading the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books. Well, I just got done with the second one at least. It seems like I'm probably going to charge through the next book books in a week or so. Highly fucking addictive. And very very good. They're just so emotionally pent up. And it never goes quite the way I think it will. There are still surprises in the story, which makes it interesting. I think the books are good for me because they are so fucking emotional. And I am not, as a general rule. Sometimes I need a serious emotional release and I have a very hard time finding one. Reading the books though, it sort of feel like each of the four friends has some sort of personality trait that I also have. So I can relate to all of them (though Bridget is a harder character to relate with than the rest just because she is so sporty and energetic - but she gets depressed too, and that's when I feel for her). Well, I guess really, the amazing thing is that I can feel when I read the books. I spend so much time closed off to everyone, including myself, that finding something that can break through and make me feel is a novelty. And the books while being about love and the ultimate survival of friendship, the books are still depressing and sad. Not everything turns out happy. They each have their happy times and then they have their gut-wrenching bad times, and then they crawl through it and do it all over again. Reminds me of life. Good things mixed in with the bad. Almost in equal measures. Reading the books... makes me miss you guys.
So apparently I'm slipping back into childhood by slow degrees. First cartoons (anime) and now I've gone back to coloring. I acted like a completely foolish giddy kid around my mom while shopping at Michael's when I saw a row of fuzzy posters and made my mom stand around for about fifteen minutes while I selected the best fuzzy poster I could find. And then I cuddled it to myself and saw a box of Fun Dip Valentine's Day packets and I had to get those too, of course. I also spend an insane amount of time inspecting Sharpies. I think I have an addiction. My mom bought this huge 100 color collection of gel pens at Sams a few months ago and we split the pens up among ourselves and I've got this huge collection of colorful gel pens now, which I have hardly used at all. They are now being used on my butterfly fuzzy poster. Each butterfly is colored differently, each color is individual and never to be used again (on this poster, at least). I spend time scribbling on scrap paper and selecting out the best colors to match together and which exact butterfly to match the colors to. I have to concentrate to make sure to color within the black fuzzy poster lines. Yes, childhood, here I come.
Speaking of my age - I found a new gray hair. It's not in the gray spot. It's at the top of my head this time. I'm unsure how to feel about this. It was okay when it was one spot. But now it seems... I'm going gray in other areas. I might possibly be completely gray by 25 (this may be an exaduration, but I'm not really sure). I still think my gray is pretty, don't get me wrong. But I'm not sure if I want it everywhere yet. Gray hair is wild. It's different from regular hair. I think what makes my gray hair look good is the dark hair that's beside it - they sorta off-set eachother very well. I don't know how good the gray would look on it's own without anything dark around it. I promise, I'm really not going to obsess about this too much, but since I just discovered it today, I get to have a pensive moment. I feel like an old lady. In body and in soul. I wonder where time has gone to. It seems to be slipping by awfully fast. I'm trying to grab onto it as hard as I can, but it's like sand - you can capture a few grains, but the rest slip away.
I wish I had something valuable to do. Something worthwhile. But I settle for being able to spend time reading and coloring inside the lines because I enjoy it. What is the point of life, anyway? I've found many answers and all of them slip away after a while and I'm left asking the question again. What is the point? Why do I live? Why do you live? Why do we get up in the morning and keep going round and round in the circle that is the routine of daily life? Why do I shut myself away so hard that I can't even find myself? I know who I am. But only well enough to know that I know nothing. I am me. But why can I never find the right thing to say when the time is right? Why are my emotions locked away until it is too late? It isn't intentional... it just is. Why am I scared to go through life and yet scared to lose my life? Why the hell do I have to re-read everything I type? Why the hell do my words get misplaced in the sentence to the point of being jumbled (if I did not re-read I would end up with sentences that finished in "my lose life" - my words switch places until I am unsure which should go first and which last - and my hands type it out of order).
If I were a roleplaying character would I be good or evil or neutral? Would I be in the class of order or chaos? Would I be the human who can never match in grace to the elves, never match in strength to the ogres, never match in stubbornness like the dwarves... or would I be one of the orgres or dwarves? Short and hairy or big and ugly? I know I wouldn't be an elf. Not even my imagionation can stretch that far. Though I do envy their long pointed ears (imagion how many peircings I could have with those ears!).
I love this song. Darkness by Disturbed. Disturbed is a group that normally has a lot of loud voices, a few animalistic grunts and yells, and a lot of empassioned song writting. I've come to think that the lead singer is a fucking genius. A musical god of singing. He can sing in the most primal sounding voices, and then in this song... god, he sounds like he could belong in a chamber chior. Only he'd be the soloist because his voice is too beautiful to hide in the clamour of others. It's just beautiful. And sad. And dark. And accompanied by a piano, guitar, and violin (or viola?). And his lyrics for most songs, if you take the time to listen, particularly as the band has progressed... they're just powerful. Not that I like Disturbed most of the time - I'm often not quite in the mood to listen to music that is as hardcore as most of their stuff. But when I'm in the mood... it's great.
I'm going to have to remember to turn off my phone in case work tries to call me in. I was shocked that they didn't call me today (not that I didn't have my phone off anyway, but no one called). It was a mess when I left Saturday night at closing and Sundays are never that great for getting things shelved in the library (the library turns into this mad house that everyone likes to visit, and all of them find the perfect spot to stand to be just in your way while trying to shelve). So I thought I'd get called in to help get things caught up. But I didn't. Maybe my boss decided I needed the day off. Or maybe she's saving calling me for tomorrow. Either way - I'm not going in. Unless she begs, and then I'll have trouble saying no. Or unless she catches me in a semi-asleep state. That's how she got me in last time. She called at 8:30 in the morning and it woke me and since the phone was just an arm-reach away, I stupidly answered it. I had enough presence of mind to say that I would call back when I "officially" woke up. But I pretty much agreed I'd come in after that. And then it took me a while to get back to sleep because I kept thinking about how I would have to go into work when I got out of bed. I'm a pathetic slive, in case anyone was wondering. I dread work. It's not that it's really all that bad. But I suppose on some level that I have anxiety problems. I think about work and worry about work even when I'm not at work. Even when I have days off. For example - today and tomorrow. What am I doing? I'm worrying about getting called in tomorrow. I'm worrying about figuring out a way to say "no" for no other reason than I want another day to bop around the house and do errands. I'm working Wednesday Friday and Saturday. That should be enough. After all I'm trying to figure out my life here! I need plenty of time to contemplate it while I cry over Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books and while I play my video games. Lot of important thinking going on there.
In all seriousness, I do contemplate my life a lot lately. I have still not figured out a single thing about where I should start directing my life. But I spend a lot of time thinking about it and about myself and what would work for me. And I think a lot about time. And I spend a lot of time questioning myself about everything. I have concluded that I waste a lot of time. And thus I start thinking about time again. And thinking about time makes me waste more time. Vicious cycle. I'll be repeating it sometime Wednesday. Who knew shelving books brought about endless cycles of thinking about time. And wishing time would pass faster. Or slower. And I'm going to shut up now before I confuse everyone else as much as I already confuse myself.
So... now you have gotten a glimpse at my twisted life. See - there's really not much to say. Or there's plenty to say, but none of it is really worthwhile. Or it's too worthwhile and it's the sort of thing that nobody can answer and thus it's still worthless to mention. My cool dragon pen-holder is staring at me... he looks like he is quietly amused. He thinks I am an entertaining idiot. And that I write a lot to say so little.
Maybe he has a point. Wise dragon.
So I need to go clean the house. Another vicious, endless cycle. I will always be cleaning, it seems. But I bet everyone else goes through it too. Just probably not as much as me. But at least I get paid for it! Doesn't make the cleaning any more fun, though.
Seriously, I'm gone. Ta-ta. See ya later. If I spoke a foriegn language I'd continuing finding ways to say goodbye (exotically, of course).
Music: the list has wound back to "The Widow" by the Mars Volta. "'cause I'll never, never sleep alone." (that's right... I don't sleep alone... that's what my dog is for - and there I go with my typo's again... I typed god instead of dog... I have to watch my typing like a hawk!)
I'm not really sure what I have to say. Sorry I didn't post any of those photos I said I would - but they're on my mother's computer and I keep forgetting to get them from her. I am a lazy slob.
I've been reading the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books. Well, I just got done with the second one at least. It seems like I'm probably going to charge through the next book books in a week or so. Highly fucking addictive. And very very good. They're just so emotionally pent up. And it never goes quite the way I think it will. There are still surprises in the story, which makes it interesting. I think the books are good for me because they are so fucking emotional. And I am not, as a general rule. Sometimes I need a serious emotional release and I have a very hard time finding one. Reading the books though, it sort of feel like each of the four friends has some sort of personality trait that I also have. So I can relate to all of them (though Bridget is a harder character to relate with than the rest just because she is so sporty and energetic - but she gets depressed too, and that's when I feel for her). Well, I guess really, the amazing thing is that I can feel when I read the books. I spend so much time closed off to everyone, including myself, that finding something that can break through and make me feel is a novelty. And the books while being about love and the ultimate survival of friendship, the books are still depressing and sad. Not everything turns out happy. They each have their happy times and then they have their gut-wrenching bad times, and then they crawl through it and do it all over again. Reminds me of life. Good things mixed in with the bad. Almost in equal measures. Reading the books... makes me miss you guys.
So apparently I'm slipping back into childhood by slow degrees. First cartoons (anime) and now I've gone back to coloring. I acted like a completely foolish giddy kid around my mom while shopping at Michael's when I saw a row of fuzzy posters and made my mom stand around for about fifteen minutes while I selected the best fuzzy poster I could find. And then I cuddled it to myself and saw a box of Fun Dip Valentine's Day packets and I had to get those too, of course. I also spend an insane amount of time inspecting Sharpies. I think I have an addiction. My mom bought this huge 100 color collection of gel pens at Sams a few months ago and we split the pens up among ourselves and I've got this huge collection of colorful gel pens now, which I have hardly used at all. They are now being used on my butterfly fuzzy poster. Each butterfly is colored differently, each color is individual and never to be used again (on this poster, at least). I spend time scribbling on scrap paper and selecting out the best colors to match together and which exact butterfly to match the colors to. I have to concentrate to make sure to color within the black fuzzy poster lines. Yes, childhood, here I come.
Speaking of my age - I found a new gray hair. It's not in the gray spot. It's at the top of my head this time. I'm unsure how to feel about this. It was okay when it was one spot. But now it seems... I'm going gray in other areas. I might possibly be completely gray by 25 (this may be an exaduration, but I'm not really sure). I still think my gray is pretty, don't get me wrong. But I'm not sure if I want it everywhere yet. Gray hair is wild. It's different from regular hair. I think what makes my gray hair look good is the dark hair that's beside it - they sorta off-set eachother very well. I don't know how good the gray would look on it's own without anything dark around it. I promise, I'm really not going to obsess about this too much, but since I just discovered it today, I get to have a pensive moment. I feel like an old lady. In body and in soul. I wonder where time has gone to. It seems to be slipping by awfully fast. I'm trying to grab onto it as hard as I can, but it's like sand - you can capture a few grains, but the rest slip away.
I wish I had something valuable to do. Something worthwhile. But I settle for being able to spend time reading and coloring inside the lines because I enjoy it. What is the point of life, anyway? I've found many answers and all of them slip away after a while and I'm left asking the question again. What is the point? Why do I live? Why do you live? Why do we get up in the morning and keep going round and round in the circle that is the routine of daily life? Why do I shut myself away so hard that I can't even find myself? I know who I am. But only well enough to know that I know nothing. I am me. But why can I never find the right thing to say when the time is right? Why are my emotions locked away until it is too late? It isn't intentional... it just is. Why am I scared to go through life and yet scared to lose my life? Why the hell do I have to re-read everything I type? Why the hell do my words get misplaced in the sentence to the point of being jumbled (if I did not re-read I would end up with sentences that finished in "my lose life" - my words switch places until I am unsure which should go first and which last - and my hands type it out of order).
If I were a roleplaying character would I be good or evil or neutral? Would I be in the class of order or chaos? Would I be the human who can never match in grace to the elves, never match in strength to the ogres, never match in stubbornness like the dwarves... or would I be one of the orgres or dwarves? Short and hairy or big and ugly? I know I wouldn't be an elf. Not even my imagionation can stretch that far. Though I do envy their long pointed ears (imagion how many peircings I could have with those ears!).
I love this song. Darkness by Disturbed. Disturbed is a group that normally has a lot of loud voices, a few animalistic grunts and yells, and a lot of empassioned song writting. I've come to think that the lead singer is a fucking genius. A musical god of singing. He can sing in the most primal sounding voices, and then in this song... god, he sounds like he could belong in a chamber chior. Only he'd be the soloist because his voice is too beautiful to hide in the clamour of others. It's just beautiful. And sad. And dark. And accompanied by a piano, guitar, and violin (or viola?). And his lyrics for most songs, if you take the time to listen, particularly as the band has progressed... they're just powerful. Not that I like Disturbed most of the time - I'm often not quite in the mood to listen to music that is as hardcore as most of their stuff. But when I'm in the mood... it's great.
I'm going to have to remember to turn off my phone in case work tries to call me in. I was shocked that they didn't call me today (not that I didn't have my phone off anyway, but no one called). It was a mess when I left Saturday night at closing and Sundays are never that great for getting things shelved in the library (the library turns into this mad house that everyone likes to visit, and all of them find the perfect spot to stand to be just in your way while trying to shelve). So I thought I'd get called in to help get things caught up. But I didn't. Maybe my boss decided I needed the day off. Or maybe she's saving calling me for tomorrow. Either way - I'm not going in. Unless she begs, and then I'll have trouble saying no. Or unless she catches me in a semi-asleep state. That's how she got me in last time. She called at 8:30 in the morning and it woke me and since the phone was just an arm-reach away, I stupidly answered it. I had enough presence of mind to say that I would call back when I "officially" woke up. But I pretty much agreed I'd come in after that. And then it took me a while to get back to sleep because I kept thinking about how I would have to go into work when I got out of bed. I'm a pathetic slive, in case anyone was wondering. I dread work. It's not that it's really all that bad. But I suppose on some level that I have anxiety problems. I think about work and worry about work even when I'm not at work. Even when I have days off. For example - today and tomorrow. What am I doing? I'm worrying about getting called in tomorrow. I'm worrying about figuring out a way to say "no" for no other reason than I want another day to bop around the house and do errands. I'm working Wednesday Friday and Saturday. That should be enough. After all I'm trying to figure out my life here! I need plenty of time to contemplate it while I cry over Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books and while I play my video games. Lot of important thinking going on there.
In all seriousness, I do contemplate my life a lot lately. I have still not figured out a single thing about where I should start directing my life. But I spend a lot of time thinking about it and about myself and what would work for me. And I think a lot about time. And I spend a lot of time questioning myself about everything. I have concluded that I waste a lot of time. And thus I start thinking about time again. And thinking about time makes me waste more time. Vicious cycle. I'll be repeating it sometime Wednesday. Who knew shelving books brought about endless cycles of thinking about time. And wishing time would pass faster. Or slower. And I'm going to shut up now before I confuse everyone else as much as I already confuse myself.
So... now you have gotten a glimpse at my twisted life. See - there's really not much to say. Or there's plenty to say, but none of it is really worthwhile. Or it's too worthwhile and it's the sort of thing that nobody can answer and thus it's still worthless to mention. My cool dragon pen-holder is staring at me... he looks like he is quietly amused. He thinks I am an entertaining idiot. And that I write a lot to say so little.
Maybe he has a point. Wise dragon.
So I need to go clean the house. Another vicious, endless cycle. I will always be cleaning, it seems. But I bet everyone else goes through it too. Just probably not as much as me. But at least I get paid for it! Doesn't make the cleaning any more fun, though.
Seriously, I'm gone. Ta-ta. See ya later. If I spoke a foriegn language I'd continuing finding ways to say goodbye (exotically, of course).
Music: the list has wound back to "The Widow" by the Mars Volta. "'cause I'll never, never sleep alone." (that's right... I don't sleep alone... that's what my dog is for - and there I go with my typo's again... I typed god instead of dog... I have to watch my typing like a hawk!)