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"days like this, I don't know what to do with myself"
First, my horoscope, because I forgot about it until about 3 seconds ago:
"In the months we've been working on your therapy, I wonder if we've ever gotten you to master the fine art of tying up loose ends? We'll soon see. There's a certain drama that needs to come to a definitive end, but forces are conspiring behind the scenes to keep it on life-support in a fuzzy, limbo-like state. I urge you to attend to every last boring detail to make sure it's completely resolved. Any business you leave up in the air now will only come back to haunt you later, probably when you least expect it."
Thanks, Rob
I have done nothing of any interest since I updated last. I've watched three old Roswell's, because I was nostalgic for the early days. You know, back when the characters had consistency and the plots a point. Also, to brace myself for the last two episodes, which I fear will be disappointing, and the highly probable chance that by the end of the week, Roswell will be officially canceled, and will have no knight-in-shining-armor, aka UPN, coming to its rescue.
I've listened to this cd so many times... but only here. I seldom listen to Fiona at school, but at home, I can't stop. I suspect it has something to do with memory, with the memories that pervade this cd, of junior and senior year of high school, of my discovery of chick music, of the strange brand of happiness I had then.
Sometimes I really hate memory. It's intoxicating, and it's misleading; it makes me long for things I know, deep down, I never really had. But it tricks me into believing I had them, and in the now, the absence of them, the loss, is acute.
I'm not really unhappy right now, although every word I write is making me sound as though I am. I'm just - hell, I don't know what I am. Thinking too much. Or too little; there's a surprisingly fine line between the two.
Maybe I'm thinking of the wrong things. I work out all of these thoughts, or I think that I do, at least - I write them down and that gives them shape, makes them seem final. But maybe they're better off indistinct; they change too easily, after all, and tomorrow I could have a completely different view on whatever "conclusions" I reach today. How the hell am I supposed to understand anything when everything's so subjective? It's really kind of annoying.
I haven't driven yet, because the battery in my car is dead. I find that problematic - the battery is always dying if it isn't driven for a few days, which doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the reliability of the damn thing. Mom can't jump start it, either, which means I have to call my father and have him come and do it, and I just love asking him for help with things. Ha. Still, I really want to go places tomorrow, so I suppose I have no choice.
"In the months we've been working on your therapy, I wonder if we've ever gotten you to master the fine art of tying up loose ends? We'll soon see. There's a certain drama that needs to come to a definitive end, but forces are conspiring behind the scenes to keep it on life-support in a fuzzy, limbo-like state. I urge you to attend to every last boring detail to make sure it's completely resolved. Any business you leave up in the air now will only come back to haunt you later, probably when you least expect it."
Thanks, Rob
I have done nothing of any interest since I updated last. I've watched three old Roswell's, because I was nostalgic for the early days. You know, back when the characters had consistency and the plots a point. Also, to brace myself for the last two episodes, which I fear will be disappointing, and the highly probable chance that by the end of the week, Roswell will be officially canceled, and will have no knight-in-shining-armor, aka UPN, coming to its rescue.
I've listened to this cd so many times... but only here. I seldom listen to Fiona at school, but at home, I can't stop. I suspect it has something to do with memory, with the memories that pervade this cd, of junior and senior year of high school, of my discovery of chick music, of the strange brand of happiness I had then.
Sometimes I really hate memory. It's intoxicating, and it's misleading; it makes me long for things I know, deep down, I never really had. But it tricks me into believing I had them, and in the now, the absence of them, the loss, is acute.
I'm not really unhappy right now, although every word I write is making me sound as though I am. I'm just - hell, I don't know what I am. Thinking too much. Or too little; there's a surprisingly fine line between the two.
Maybe I'm thinking of the wrong things. I work out all of these thoughts, or I think that I do, at least - I write them down and that gives them shape, makes them seem final. But maybe they're better off indistinct; they change too easily, after all, and tomorrow I could have a completely different view on whatever "conclusions" I reach today. How the hell am I supposed to understand anything when everything's so subjective? It's really kind of annoying.
I haven't driven yet, because the battery in my car is dead. I find that problematic - the battery is always dying if it isn't driven for a few days, which doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the reliability of the damn thing. Mom can't jump start it, either, which means I have to call my father and have him come and do it, and I just love asking him for help with things. Ha. Still, I really want to go places tomorrow, so I suppose I have no choice.
*waves*