New pages to be turned
Back from the dead:
Still trying to find the meaning of life, or what there is to it that seems to elude me and all other scholarly people of the world. Perhaps I should just give up on that quest, though. Perhaps I need to stick to what I'm fair at, seeing as I'm not grand at much else. Videogames and books. I could write a book about playing a videogame, and then send it to the publishing company of that very game, and gain millions.
Profit. I don't want it. Not yet. I want to reap the bills from my family tree for a while longer. I'd like to postpone this so-called 'adolescence' as long as I can. So I do this by typing to forgotten blogs to forgotten audiences of forgotten lineage.
I think it's best not to let anyone know I have a livejournal. It always goes badly with at least one informant and I'm forced to get a new account or new friends (and most of the time, both.)
The end of that diatribe:
My mother has gotten her own geriatric myspace: EONS. It's no harm, nor any threat to the mass-consumer Myspace originality. But, ever since, she has become overly sensitive, stuck up, and rather dismissive.
Case and point: I was talking to her the other day and ranting to her about the teen pains of senioritis and college apps. She could relate. She went to community college, but it's still the same process, to say the least. Instead of any motherly advice she could dish out to me and possibly shed wisdom upon, she'll tell me that I'm 'attacking her.' This word; 'attacking' is now her favorite word of the year. She's the kind of person that will hold grudges, albeit, I've grown used to that. The sad part, for me, is; I can't remember one time where she told me something encouraging about college. It always ends up being something about how I've been 'attacking' her or 'how dare I try to make it (The antecedent being 'college') about me."
Maybe it's just an unhealthy balance of me not venting enough and her venting to her own people. So... Here I am.
I am here to tell myself that everything will be okay. To answer the questions that I care about without consulting people I love. And, hopefully... Whoever will read this, can help me.
Signed,
Worrisome Me.
Still trying to find the meaning of life, or what there is to it that seems to elude me and all other scholarly people of the world. Perhaps I should just give up on that quest, though. Perhaps I need to stick to what I'm fair at, seeing as I'm not grand at much else. Videogames and books. I could write a book about playing a videogame, and then send it to the publishing company of that very game, and gain millions.
Profit. I don't want it. Not yet. I want to reap the bills from my family tree for a while longer. I'd like to postpone this so-called 'adolescence' as long as I can. So I do this by typing to forgotten blogs to forgotten audiences of forgotten lineage.
I think it's best not to let anyone know I have a livejournal. It always goes badly with at least one informant and I'm forced to get a new account or new friends (and most of the time, both.)
The end of that diatribe:
My mother has gotten her own geriatric myspace: EONS. It's no harm, nor any threat to the mass-consumer Myspace originality. But, ever since, she has become overly sensitive, stuck up, and rather dismissive.
Case and point: I was talking to her the other day and ranting to her about the teen pains of senioritis and college apps. She could relate. She went to community college, but it's still the same process, to say the least. Instead of any motherly advice she could dish out to me and possibly shed wisdom upon, she'll tell me that I'm 'attacking her.' This word; 'attacking' is now her favorite word of the year. She's the kind of person that will hold grudges, albeit, I've grown used to that. The sad part, for me, is; I can't remember one time where she told me something encouraging about college. It always ends up being something about how I've been 'attacking' her or 'how dare I try to make it (The antecedent being 'college') about me."
Maybe it's just an unhealthy balance of me not venting enough and her venting to her own people. So... Here I am.
I am here to tell myself that everything will be okay. To answer the questions that I care about without consulting people I love. And, hopefully... Whoever will read this, can help me.
Signed,
Worrisome Me.