stopping there
I have this terrible habit. It's something that I do nearly every day, often multiple times a day as it tends to build upon itself, and it makes me very... sad. Frustrated. Disappointed in myself.
I write- and then I delete.
I comment on a post, a fic, a picspam, and then whatever it is in my brain that says, 'Yes, being social is awesome, people totally want you to participate, even if it's stupid it'll be fun and it's okay' shorts out only to be overridden by that 'You're not part of the conversation, you don't know these people, not really, if they wanted to be your friend they'd comment on your posts' thing. I fucking hate that thing. But 9 times out of 10, it wins out and I don't know why.
...
I remember reading a fic with Jonas and bandom folk ( This Is An S.O.S'- totally reccing because it's fabulous) A lot of the initial story comes from out wildly out of place the Jonas Brothers are on Warped Tour and their general "home school" nature. Well:
His brothers seem to be getting along alright with the other guys. Nick turns to the tall blond guy on his right. “I’m from Jersey,” he says, looking up.
“I’m from Chicago,” says the tall blonde guy, looking down. “It’s cool.”
Sadly, the only thing that comes to mind is show tunes. Sadly, this is a reoccurring problem in Nick’s life. Nick swallows. “What’s Chicago like?”
“Best city in the wide wide world,” says the tall blonde guy.
Nick tries to smile but he thinks it comes out mostly confused.
“Lupe Fiasco,” explains the tall blonde guy. “He’s a local guy, maybe you haven’t heard of him.”
Nick says, “I’m sorry. I was home schooled.”
“Then this will be a very interesting experience for you,” says the tall blonde guy. “My name’s Bob.”
“I’m Nick,” says Nick, and he resists very hard against saying “Want to be friends?”
In this (strange never-going-to-happen universe) I'm Nick. Awkward, out-of-the-loop, terrified but still wanting to be this person's friend, wanting to know them and not saying it. I really, really want to say it. All the time. Online and in real life because writing and deleting? Not limited to the interwebs. The number of retorts and jokes and stories I've told in my mind without ever voicing could fill books.
I write- and then I delete.
I comment on a post, a fic, a picspam, and then whatever it is in my brain that says, 'Yes, being social is awesome, people totally want you to participate, even if it's stupid it'll be fun and it's okay' shorts out only to be overridden by that 'You're not part of the conversation, you don't know these people, not really, if they wanted to be your friend they'd comment on your posts' thing. I fucking hate that thing. But 9 times out of 10, it wins out and I don't know why.
...
I remember reading a fic with Jonas and bandom folk ( This Is An S.O.S'- totally reccing because it's fabulous) A lot of the initial story comes from out wildly out of place the Jonas Brothers are on Warped Tour and their general "home school" nature. Well:
His brothers seem to be getting along alright with the other guys. Nick turns to the tall blond guy on his right. “I’m from Jersey,” he says, looking up.
“I’m from Chicago,” says the tall blonde guy, looking down. “It’s cool.”
Sadly, the only thing that comes to mind is show tunes. Sadly, this is a reoccurring problem in Nick’s life. Nick swallows. “What’s Chicago like?”
“Best city in the wide wide world,” says the tall blonde guy.
Nick tries to smile but he thinks it comes out mostly confused.
“Lupe Fiasco,” explains the tall blonde guy. “He’s a local guy, maybe you haven’t heard of him.”
Nick says, “I’m sorry. I was home schooled.”
“Then this will be a very interesting experience for you,” says the tall blonde guy. “My name’s Bob.”
“I’m Nick,” says Nick, and he resists very hard against saying “Want to be friends?”
In this (strange never-going-to-happen universe) I'm Nick. Awkward, out-of-the-loop, terrified but still wanting to be this person's friend, wanting to know them and not saying it. I really, really want to say it. All the time. Online and in real life because writing and deleting? Not limited to the interwebs. The number of retorts and jokes and stories I've told in my mind without ever voicing could fill books.