The Office is a great program. Hahahaha.
It's one of those days where smiling is alright. Smiling feels good. It's like when you make yourself exercise, and you hate it, and then afterward, when your bones ache and your body just dies, you feel so productive. You feel like you've done something to really help yourself.
I didn't exercise. But smiling feels good.
One of those days where I feel pretty. One of those days where even the things that went wrong, they didn't go too wrong. One of those days that livejournal will define for me as feeling "content". I like myself today. I like my blunt personality. I like the way I am okay with staring at the sky--clouds or stars--for a little too long, and wanting to compose a poem. Or prose. Any book I read, inspires me to write one. And I could, I guess. I just don't have plots. I ramble. Have you noticed? My unending, pointless spats of highschool eloquence really have no meaning. They are as scatterbrained as...(this is eloquent--ready?) an old person with alzheimers. Which reminds me--I can't wait to get old.
I hope I don't get old alone. I hope someone else, someone who used to be attractive, gets old and ugly right by my side. I hope we sit on our porch, rock in rocking chairs, and talk about the riske things we did when we were young that our children and grandchildren would love to hear about. We will tell them. I can't keep secrets from the people I love. I will tell them about getting high, getting too high, falling in love, falling in lust, making dumb decisions with parents missing in homes. I will tell them about my bad habits and bad outbursts of anger. I know I'll still have both of those to demonstrate.
And now there's an old man in my living room, attempting to woo my mother. Good luck, bastard. I don't like him very much. He calls television shows "programs". My grandfather does too. Yup. That's how old he is.
PS ohhhhhh I want Steve.
I didn't exercise. But smiling feels good.
One of those days where I feel pretty. One of those days where even the things that went wrong, they didn't go too wrong. One of those days that livejournal will define for me as feeling "content". I like myself today. I like my blunt personality. I like the way I am okay with staring at the sky--clouds or stars--for a little too long, and wanting to compose a poem. Or prose. Any book I read, inspires me to write one. And I could, I guess. I just don't have plots. I ramble. Have you noticed? My unending, pointless spats of highschool eloquence really have no meaning. They are as scatterbrained as...(this is eloquent--ready?) an old person with alzheimers. Which reminds me--I can't wait to get old.
I hope I don't get old alone. I hope someone else, someone who used to be attractive, gets old and ugly right by my side. I hope we sit on our porch, rock in rocking chairs, and talk about the riske things we did when we were young that our children and grandchildren would love to hear about. We will tell them. I can't keep secrets from the people I love. I will tell them about getting high, getting too high, falling in love, falling in lust, making dumb decisions with parents missing in homes. I will tell them about my bad habits and bad outbursts of anger. I know I'll still have both of those to demonstrate.
And now there's an old man in my living room, attempting to woo my mother. Good luck, bastard. I don't like him very much. He calls television shows "programs". My grandfather does too. Yup. That's how old he is.
PS ohhhhhh I want Steve.