amazing
It's amazing how your entire day can go to shit in the span of five minutes. I am in such a supremely foul mood that I don't even feel like explaining what happened. Actually, I'm not really angry. I'm just moody. I'm telling myself "I told you so" and that is never a very pleasant experience. I'm laughing at myself for getting my hopes up. I thought I'd learned better than that. In fact, I've been very proud of my pragmatism. I let it go for a month--one frickin month--and bam, London bridge is falling down.
Fiona Apple and I have been enjoying an afternoon liasion. Fiona understands what's up. She's got her feet on the ground and she doesn't sleep to dream. She's realized that the dove is really just a paper bag.
(I just realized that the above sentences will make no sense to someone who has not listened to Fiona Apple. To you I say: listen to her. She is amazing.)
I suppose that, like Fiona, my hands are just too shaky to hold. I *am* a mess. I'm a walking bundle of unresolved issues. I can go from angry to sad to happy to goofy and back again in no time. Spend a day with me, and you'll see the entire range of human emotion displayed on my face. Well, maybe not. I'm developing a rather impressive stone face. Life is easier when people think you don't feel anything. It's safer to maintain a good distance from people. Speaking of which, some strange girl rested her hand on my back when she was leaning forward to get a drink at the espresso bar. I almost hit her. I don't like it when my friends touch me on the back. I absolutely hate it when strangers touch me anywhere. I don't know them. They don't know me. They don't need to be touching me.
Enough of my ranting. I'm going to take a nap, then do some sociology homework. I'm not doing well in that class, or in earth science. Goodbye, 3.0. It was nice knowing you.
Fiona Apple and I have been enjoying an afternoon liasion. Fiona understands what's up. She's got her feet on the ground and she doesn't sleep to dream. She's realized that the dove is really just a paper bag.
(I just realized that the above sentences will make no sense to someone who has not listened to Fiona Apple. To you I say: listen to her. She is amazing.)
I suppose that, like Fiona, my hands are just too shaky to hold. I *am* a mess. I'm a walking bundle of unresolved issues. I can go from angry to sad to happy to goofy and back again in no time. Spend a day with me, and you'll see the entire range of human emotion displayed on my face. Well, maybe not. I'm developing a rather impressive stone face. Life is easier when people think you don't feel anything. It's safer to maintain a good distance from people. Speaking of which, some strange girl rested her hand on my back when she was leaning forward to get a drink at the espresso bar. I almost hit her. I don't like it when my friends touch me on the back. I absolutely hate it when strangers touch me anywhere. I don't know them. They don't know me. They don't need to be touching me.
Enough of my ranting. I'm going to take a nap, then do some sociology homework. I'm not doing well in that class, or in earth science. Goodbye, 3.0. It was nice knowing you.