(no subject)
journal. it's like.
i'm drinking a concoction consisting of coffee, egg nog, and pumpkin pie spice. i don't know. it's too hot to taste, currently.
i dislike the name beverly.
winter here is like spring elsewhere, you know. or even summer elsewhere. it seems wrong to me that i should stand outdoors in december, holding my hand over my eyes for the sun and removing a light sweater for the heat. i require (request, really) seasons to fall in with tradition. not that i have ever experienced their doing so except in very small quantities, and for the purposes of novelty.
hard for me to write here now, but i'm definitely in a phase, or, rather, in a fit. i go through these bleak periods (which begin on a dime) at infrequent intervals wherein i just cannot muster interest in all of the things that i am, in fact, interested in. i haven't got much to say, there isn't anything in particular that i very much want to do, i feel blandly towards all things, etc. in spite of whatever retarded daria-like image of me there is floating around or being projected, it's a far cry from my normal state.
it's irritating for me.
the internet is a weird place, you know. i've never seen myself as the sort of chatty nerd who has all of these pals online and lives this strange pseudo social life. but i was reading old journal entries and saw comments from an old aol friend i was talking to primarily when i was 14 and 15, all goth and tori and weirdness. she died last year, and i'm not sure how exactly to feel about that. more so because we hadn't talked in several years and towards the end she took a turn and became a rabid born-again and all that. but how does one mourn a person they haven't met. how, for that matter, is someone best pals with a person they haven't met. don't ask, but it happens. i don't know. NM I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.
i'm drinking a concoction consisting of coffee, egg nog, and pumpkin pie spice. i don't know. it's too hot to taste, currently.
i dislike the name beverly.
winter here is like spring elsewhere, you know. or even summer elsewhere. it seems wrong to me that i should stand outdoors in december, holding my hand over my eyes for the sun and removing a light sweater for the heat. i require (request, really) seasons to fall in with tradition. not that i have ever experienced their doing so except in very small quantities, and for the purposes of novelty.
hard for me to write here now, but i'm definitely in a phase, or, rather, in a fit. i go through these bleak periods (which begin on a dime) at infrequent intervals wherein i just cannot muster interest in all of the things that i am, in fact, interested in. i haven't got much to say, there isn't anything in particular that i very much want to do, i feel blandly towards all things, etc. in spite of whatever retarded daria-like image of me there is floating around or being projected, it's a far cry from my normal state.
it's irritating for me.
the internet is a weird place, you know. i've never seen myself as the sort of chatty nerd who has all of these pals online and lives this strange pseudo social life. but i was reading old journal entries and saw comments from an old aol friend i was talking to primarily when i was 14 and 15, all goth and tori and weirdness. she died last year, and i'm not sure how exactly to feel about that. more so because we hadn't talked in several years and towards the end she took a turn and became a rabid born-again and all that. but how does one mourn a person they haven't met. how, for that matter, is someone best pals with a person they haven't met. don't ask, but it happens. i don't know. NM I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.