(no subject)
I have been thinking about a few things. Like- say, for example, why I am unable to produce any sort of satisfactory composition for class. I have yet again been chosen as one of the candidates for the Commonwealth writing competition, and it's surprising. Why would they choose me again when I delivered that bountiful amount of shit right to their doorstep? Really, a Sec One writing about an interview with a snake? That is, of course, Primary Three level writing. And yet for some reason they want me in again. Truthfully, most of that composition about interviewing a snake as inspired by Harry's conversation with one in the first book. The bit where he makes the glass disappear, you know? Right before that he has a conversation with the snake. What else was I supposed to draw from?my brain was literally dead. And now I hav chronic cough, it seems. No, really. When one is the proud owner of a Cough that really just insists on staying with her even though they met years ago when Miss Owner was in Primary One... Why, I am rambling. Satisfactorily, I hope, for I have half the mind to stick this all under a cut titled TL;DR Angst Session, just to keep everyone away even though personally I see nothing of angstical value up there. I realize that with my devotion to RP I have experienced wonders beyond my initial sort of imagination. RP has been an outlet for me, an escape route to the unknown where I am me but yet another person with special qualities, perhaps one more powerful or mysterious, or somebody beautiful and smart, of which sadly I have none. Allen Walker has been a joy to play; I feel his pain and yet don't entirely feel it because I know he is a paper being, I am happy when he is, and even when he is injured and hurt, I have nothing to worry about because I have full control over what happens next and his injuries aren't mine, cannot affect me, perhaps merely tinge me with a sense of undescribable melancholy thanks to the storyline. But Allen has been straying further from me. Day by day Allen Walker slips away from one who never really was good at playing him and living ot his life anyway. If I really drop him, though, where can I fly to to hide from Truth? I want this sanctuary for that tiny bit of my brain that is delusional, overly imaginative, unconnected to reality and the rst of my mundane human movements. A stir in the air?
I have also realized that I am writin in capital letters a lot - or rather, typing - on AIM when conferring with other RPers. I admit it is a feeble attempt at being "cute" and "lovable" and most of all, "happy", but it seems to work and really, who wants a female Doumeki on their friend lists? I really wish Edda would write to me. An email or a paper letter. People move on so quickly; sometimes I still wonder if she knows my last name. Hmmm, am I sounding like a lesbian yet? I didn't intend to, I assure you. Paper has been the most holy of holy creations. It can be written on, drawn on, crumpled up, torn, used as a decorative last measure, break people's hearts or give them a bad case of Mister Euforia. Most importantly, though, of course: paper is biodegradable.
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I have also realized that I am writin in capital letters a lot - or rather, typing - on AIM when conferring with other RPers. I admit it is a feeble attempt at being "cute" and "lovable" and most of all, "happy", but it seems to work and really, who wants a female Doumeki on their friend lists? I really wish Edda would write to me. An email or a paper letter. People move on so quickly; sometimes I still wonder if she knows my last name. Hmmm, am I sounding like a lesbian yet? I didn't intend to, I assure you. Paper has been the most holy of holy creations. It can be written on, drawn on, crumpled up, torn, used as a decorative last measure, break people's hearts or give them a bad case of Mister Euforia. Most importantly, though, of course: paper is biodegradable.
Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com