2002-10-12 - 8:53 p.m.
Aside from that freak minority faction of genuinely happy people, I think that people are genuinely unhappy with intervals of other.
But then, maybe that's just me.
Everyone has a void though, sometimes, right? There is a gaping big hole type thing in the life of all... right?
My problem, that I'm attempting to gripe over although not managing at all well, is that the hole into the void for me is food-shaped. Not the void itself which is much, much bigger, but...
I'm ramble-procrastinating, don't mind me.
Work was too long. Kept hoping to see people but didn't. They were there apparently, but evidently was too difficult to say hello.
Was on a stupid register. Did many stupid things. The public was generally annoying. But work people made that all not matter to me. I like work people.
And the object of my work obsession was around. Was at one point almost alone in room for several minutes with him. Couldn't stare... too obvious. Couldn't speak... too silence breaking.
He makes things better too. I enjoy watching him far too much still.
I've been trying to think of an appropriate verb that connects me to him. Love? *uproarious laughter*... no. Like? ... eh. Lust? ... not really.
You know the feeling you get when watching the scene with the plastic bag dancing in the wind in American Beauty? There's maybe some of that.
Maybe... maybe I heart him. I only feel comfortable saying that because it doesn't have a real definition... and neither does this.
Are you bored? I would think you would be. I would be, if I was non-me. I only explore what I have, and just because I have nothing... well it is my fault.
That sentence didn't end up where it was meant to go, could you tell?
My psych essay awaits me still... poor little nonexistant thing.
It's interesting enough (turns out, men really do know what women want) but I don't know, I still can't bring myself to do it. I mean, I sit around trying to do it, but it ends up being like I haven't brought the essay-writing part of myself with me. And I have to delete the little that I have and am again left with nothing.
The pressure is coming... I can tell because my leg is going crazy, twitch-style.
I'm desperately hoping that essay-writing babs shows up in the next 24 hrs so we can stress out and get this done. But I'm scared and confused by the possibility that maybe this psych thing, isn't for me.
I feel Dorothy-like. Except she at least manages to get back to Kansas... while I wander further into the depths of Oz and realms beyond, still trying to work the magic shoes.
But then, maybe that's just me.
Everyone has a void though, sometimes, right? There is a gaping big hole type thing in the life of all... right?
My problem, that I'm attempting to gripe over although not managing at all well, is that the hole into the void for me is food-shaped. Not the void itself which is much, much bigger, but...
I'm ramble-procrastinating, don't mind me.
Work was too long. Kept hoping to see people but didn't. They were there apparently, but evidently was too difficult to say hello.
Was on a stupid register. Did many stupid things. The public was generally annoying. But work people made that all not matter to me. I like work people.
And the object of my work obsession was around. Was at one point almost alone in room for several minutes with him. Couldn't stare... too obvious. Couldn't speak... too silence breaking.
He makes things better too. I enjoy watching him far too much still.
I've been trying to think of an appropriate verb that connects me to him. Love? *uproarious laughter*... no. Like? ... eh. Lust? ... not really.
You know the feeling you get when watching the scene with the plastic bag dancing in the wind in American Beauty? There's maybe some of that.
Maybe... maybe I heart him. I only feel comfortable saying that because it doesn't have a real definition... and neither does this.
Are you bored? I would think you would be. I would be, if I was non-me. I only explore what I have, and just because I have nothing... well it is my fault.
That sentence didn't end up where it was meant to go, could you tell?
My psych essay awaits me still... poor little nonexistant thing.
It's interesting enough (turns out, men really do know what women want) but I don't know, I still can't bring myself to do it. I mean, I sit around trying to do it, but it ends up being like I haven't brought the essay-writing part of myself with me. And I have to delete the little that I have and am again left with nothing.
The pressure is coming... I can tell because my leg is going crazy, twitch-style.
I'm desperately hoping that essay-writing babs shows up in the next 24 hrs so we can stress out and get this done. But I'm scared and confused by the possibility that maybe this psych thing, isn't for me.
I feel Dorothy-like. Except she at least manages to get back to Kansas... while I wander further into the depths of Oz and realms beyond, still trying to work the magic shoes.
