Ramble
I sat there, staring at the screen blankly. Nothing seemed to come to mind. No words, no images, nothing. Turning up the angst filled, loud music playing on my computer, I opened my word processor, wondering if I could ever manage to write something even half decent. The online comic he had reccomended to me loomed in on my taskbar. Fifty percent done. Like the fifty percent chance he still had an interest in me. The fifty percent chance that I could become a professional dancer. The fifty percent chance that I would find and eventually marry the someone who loved me for who I was, all my faults and all. Nathaniel was probably not he. I paused, this was doing me no good. I was wallowing in my pain. Shaking my head, I returned back to the Word document. I wondered why I was typing this here instead of my Xanga. Robert reads my Xanga, as does the rest of the world. Robert. Yet another fifty percent chance topic. He seemed so perfect. Now, once I've had a taste of other guys, I realized that he's not perfect, but I love him all the same. So, you must be asking yourselves, why is she all depressed about Nathaniel if she loves Robert?
I don't know, truly. I don't know if I -am- in love with Robert still, but I'm not even sure if what I feel is love. Definitely not the marrying love, though. I suppose I -could- marry Robert, but his temper scares me sometimes. Nah, I'd probably rather not. I think I'll simply stick with the friend thing with Robert right now. My friend was telling me what a jerk Nathaniel was today to try to cheer me up and mentioned there were better guys out there who fit me and were like me. I asked her exactly whom. She looked around, blushed and then said something about how NU was huge.
See? There seems to be no one else that fits me. Of course, I've only had 13 years to find him, but even still. I'm impatient. I need someone to love me. I need someon to hold me, to tell me everything's going to be alright. God damnit, dear who ever you are, please try to show up quickly. I need you.
Ninety percent. Ninety percent chance that I keep all the writing I've written, which is mostly crap, and it never gets even read. For good reasons, too. I pity those who read my Xanga, too. Who truly wants hear me ranting about how my day was, how terrible I feel, and complete random things like this.
Ninety five percent. Ninety five percent chance that I - the movies finally done! Now I can go depress myself even further by watching the cartoon Nathaniel loves and remind myself every minute.
Ha. I actually wrote something. I hope no one ever reads it. It's not even writing, just rambling.