The memory of choosing not to fight
Today I realised that my old livejournal account (last updated: 2004, how ancient can you get?) was still active. I have no problem admitting that I only created it to keep up with my significant other at the time, mostly because there was another girl stalking him on eljay. Ah, teenage drama, it’s a wonderful thing. It was spectacularly amusing reading through all my old, emo entries full of mushy, depressing lyrics and rather badly written poetry. I am so ashamed.
I honestly thought the bloody thing had been deleted ages ago, because I don't remember having logged into it any time in the last few years. I must have been more sentimental than I thought. Oh, self. This calls for a lolcat of some kind, but I’m just too damn sleepy right now. Instead, have some lyrics:
cast me gently
into morning
for the night has been unkind
Ah, Sarah McLachlan. You are one part of my emo teenager days that I do not regret. (Although to be honest, I rather lack shame: I still listen to the music of the 80s, and I will defend Victoria Beckham and trashy pop to my last breath. It’s fun, people! Fuck off, music snobs.)
I honestly thought the bloody thing had been deleted ages ago, because I don't remember having logged into it any time in the last few years. I must have been more sentimental than I thought. Oh, self. This calls for a lolcat of some kind, but I’m just too damn sleepy right now. Instead, have some lyrics:
cast me gently
into morning
for the night has been unkind
Ah, Sarah McLachlan. You are one part of my emo teenager days that I do not regret. (Although to be honest, I rather lack shame: I still listen to the music of the 80s, and I will defend Victoria Beckham and trashy pop to my last breath. It’s fun, people! Fuck off, music snobs.)