[I'm hanging out with me
And you're a vacant chair
A chosen compromise
A space we rarely share]

I'm feeling better I suppose and am finding it rather unnerving. I miss the way the sickness clouded my mind until I lapsed into unconsciousness.

It was kind of like being asleep all day, with a side of uncomfortable. But I preferred the uncomfortable to this ... I don't like thinking, and I'll do anything to drown it out, including blasting my cds at full volume, much to my parent's distress.

Blah.

The test went okay ... for those of you who wanted to know. But I had to subtract, which is not one of my greatest strengths. I mean, I can do it, but by the time I've told myself what the numbers are I've already lost interest.

And I may have made a mistake in my application ... I had to put down three references, and one of the only people I could think of who usually says nice stuff about me for no reason was my english teacher from last year. Of course I failed to factor in that she may be mad at me for not calling her to report my HSC results.

Eh. If she gives me a bad reference then I can consider us even there ... Am being surprisingly philosophical about job getting thing now - if I get it, yay, I need the money. And if I don't, that's okay too, because my complexion looks really crap under flourescent lighting anyway.

I shall be the queen of superficial philosophy.

Today has turned out to be a day of nothingness and I feel almost sorry that I left my bed. These days some times bore me but I know that in less then a week I'll be missing them like crazy.

There are things to be done. Like buying books for uni. But these things are so putoffable that today remains a nothingness day.

And that is in no way a bad thing. I love my nothingness days, purely for their ultimate potential.

I can do anything today ... study for my L's ... or write this century's Gone with the wind.

Or, you know, not, but the potential still remains there ... even if I remain sitting here for the next 24 hours, it's still there.

Stretch ... stretch ... stretch ... I feel like a cat somehow. My muscles tense and push out as if they are physically expelling some evil from my body...

I think I sound more drugged than usual which is just weird because I am less drugged than usual. Metaphorically drugged, if you can imagine...

[Makeup's all off
Who am I?
If the magic's in the makeup
Then who am I?]

Sometimes I take a breath as if I am preparing to speak and there is almost a pause but then nothing happens. No thoughts are thought and no words are spoken but people assume that I'm holding back.

Flashback to last year that makes me smile, a montage of various people giving me very concerned looks and telling me "...You're disappearing," to which I would eye them and give a disbelieving smile

What makes you think
I was ever really there?

I think I missed my cue for maniacal laughter ... dagnab. I shall stop with my ranting as it is all arriving in this sour sombre flavour that is not me.

If I were a flavour I would wish to taste like lychee juice, sickly sweet. But I fear that more often than not I am flavourless, as is water.

But then we need this flavourlessness to survive, don't we?

Or at least for nothing more than to appreciate true flavour.

I really need to shut up. Sorry to Shelley for making her sick, thanks to Vyv for trying and many thanks to everyone for reading ...

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