why wont my computer charge past 96percent
am very into this whole free internet thing. was going to go to sleep. got overexcited about using my internet in bed. for free. apart from the cost of the electricity. i dont get this stupid battery. why won't it recharge to the full? bah.
i'm burning incense right now, to try and cover the smell of pizza, (meaty, thick) and pot (sickly, drifting into window, constant, irritating to sleep to) - it burnt out completely in about three minutes. the embers at the bottom of the cone are just smoldering now. softly.
magnetic fields are my friends. anarchist d. introduced me to 69 love songs.
tomorrow is my day of rest. i will be sleeping. then reading. doing some sort of uni related work. sleeping. eating. mostly sleeping. i am looking forward to it greatly. with reckless abandon from the wild, sleepy, lazy day i will have.
am making loathing faces at the pimple on cheek. i know its small. still. it hurts. makes me grumpy. i dont like sleeping on the nose ring side of my face, it is still a little tender. i keep scratching inside my nostril, which is a bit distasteful probably, but it's a stupid, socially ridiculous distaste. i'm just scratching inside my nose, not committing a capital offence. no one is dying from it.
it tickles.
a part of me is starting to want to >make< again. maybe three years of a BFA in fine arts are starting to be cleansed out of my system. i think i was one of those people nowhere near mature enough in the knowledge of where my art was, or where i was when i started the degree. it was so hard, god, but worth it. so, so worth it. and even if i know now that i have no desire to be an artist, and that frankly, i don't have it in me to be a particularly skilled one at the moment, - that's ok. i don't need to be good at art. i don't need to be amazingly skilled at anything to be justified as a human being. i don't need to be gifted to be happy. a lot of me still feels like i need to ooze out talent, ooze out a high iq, drown the populous with my grey matter. the important thing is though, i know what does and doesn't matter anymore.
'epitaph for my heart' is playing now. it makes me so happy listening to it. the strangeness of it.
it's getting colder now. i can sit on my bed and shiver. sometimes. i still feel a little shocked/ surprised to be 'responsible' for myself. it's been - since october - since i lived at home. that's a while, now that i think about it. still getting use to it. still remembering important things/ dishes/eating/washing clothes/ - problem with being treated like a stupid child your whole life.
i love my noog. i cuddle you, noogie, from here, from sleepyness, from my itchy little nose and my little finger.
i'm burning incense right now, to try and cover the smell of pizza, (meaty, thick) and pot (sickly, drifting into window, constant, irritating to sleep to) - it burnt out completely in about three minutes. the embers at the bottom of the cone are just smoldering now. softly.
magnetic fields are my friends. anarchist d. introduced me to 69 love songs.
tomorrow is my day of rest. i will be sleeping. then reading. doing some sort of uni related work. sleeping. eating. mostly sleeping. i am looking forward to it greatly. with reckless abandon from the wild, sleepy, lazy day i will have.
am making loathing faces at the pimple on cheek. i know its small. still. it hurts. makes me grumpy. i dont like sleeping on the nose ring side of my face, it is still a little tender. i keep scratching inside my nostril, which is a bit distasteful probably, but it's a stupid, socially ridiculous distaste. i'm just scratching inside my nose, not committing a capital offence. no one is dying from it.
it tickles.
a part of me is starting to want to >make< again. maybe three years of a BFA in fine arts are starting to be cleansed out of my system. i think i was one of those people nowhere near mature enough in the knowledge of where my art was, or where i was when i started the degree. it was so hard, god, but worth it. so, so worth it. and even if i know now that i have no desire to be an artist, and that frankly, i don't have it in me to be a particularly skilled one at the moment, - that's ok. i don't need to be good at art. i don't need to be amazingly skilled at anything to be justified as a human being. i don't need to be gifted to be happy. a lot of me still feels like i need to ooze out talent, ooze out a high iq, drown the populous with my grey matter. the important thing is though, i know what does and doesn't matter anymore.
'epitaph for my heart' is playing now. it makes me so happy listening to it. the strangeness of it.
it's getting colder now. i can sit on my bed and shiver. sometimes. i still feel a little shocked/ surprised to be 'responsible' for myself. it's been - since october - since i lived at home. that's a while, now that i think about it. still getting use to it. still remembering important things/ dishes/eating/washing clothes/ - problem with being treated like a stupid child your whole life.
i love my noog. i cuddle you, noogie, from here, from sleepyness, from my itchy little nose and my little finger.