not blue this moment

Dear God, you did good.
Thank you and congratulations.

Everyone in my life is being so nice to me! Yay!
Please don't stop?

but i can't

I want to be a bigot and hate all Christians. And white Americans. And people who think they can never be wrong. Bigots and bigots and bigots.
I feel like a blood clot.

other people's love stories.

I wish I knew. Just so I could weave myself into them seamlessly, make them mine, about me, my love; when the blanket of night insulates me from all my failures as a person. I have no redeeming qualities, and I hold no hope of happy endings, but a good love story is like new clean construction paper for my wandering fingers.
Other people's love stories make me cry.

this time it does not matter

Funny, isn't it, how I judge life. Or success. Or happiness. Do all rhetorical questions have to end in question marks? Why can't I ever get out of the habit of asking them?

I make friends assuming everyone means what they say. That's always mistake one. Now I know better than to trust anyone. I do know, don't I? Let us hope so. Let us hope I will never again write four pages worth (both sides!) of letter, wander through streets in search of second-hand books by a particular author for a complete stranger, spend hours making the perfect list to make into a mixed tape for a person I barely know...
Hmmm. I will always be doing things for strangers, I'm afraid. They're not strangers when I do the favours, see? Sigh. Let us hope, instead, that I will, and T will, manage to be neither petty nor childish. In other words, deletions are not the answer. Not, you hear me? Erasing people from your life will not make them remember you. Or notice that you're gone. It will only remind you that it will make no difference whatsoever. huzzah. Would you do that to your ego, now?

I have very strange personal pronouns.

Unhappy thought: It isn't really a fair world if the kindnesses you receive are all from complete strangers while the people you know for a year or two years or three years or four will not spare a moment to remember you while passing by. It isn't fair, but it is unexpected and that's a bonus, surely?
Perhaps only on the better days.

Thanks to a person in forn parts with a telephone. Made my day better, you did. Well, and the cake helped.


Unconnected: cannot tell. will not. if it does not, will i survive? needs must. i do not approve of making memories ahead of time. what will you do if the moment never measures up? this time it's different. i want to be able to say it, but i don't trust myself at all. and if it is only further, then what will i do? three more. wait it out. i miss you. can i say?

healed

...from the wound you gave me, misha.

You know no subtlety, my bear.

one hundred and ninety

I would be happy if I could only follow the stories along. Vicariously I will love.

secret fear #35
I am not sexy.

regret #11
I wish you had been the one the only the first.

pout

A part of my writing has died because there is nothing addressed to you secretly anymore. Who will decipher my sentences for me?

I don't like other people saying my things better than me.

am i?

Someone kindly explain to me the persistence in asking questions which invariably result in answers I don't like.
Ignorance is bliss, right? So what's the bloody problem I have with ignorance? What is it? What? What? Why do I need to know things I suspect are going to make me unhappy in the morning? WHAY.
sob. :(
"you are
though you wouldn't like to believe it"

Goddamn ego. And why do I care? Why do I care Why Why Why.
whywhywhywhy and I can already see myself asking everyone else bloody hell.
:'(

people

change

this time

It feels different. It is all prejudice. Last night I almost cried, but in a very romantic and pleasing fashion. :D
Oh, oh dear. And now I remember lost items :( What's the point of having nice things if they just fall off the vehicle and get stolen by thieving passers by? Owwww. How will I carry the buttermilk now?
It's nice, really, having the blue. It is like life, my blogs. Different strokes for different folks, only here anyone can choose and everyone can see; but I'm the only one who knows who understands. Someone promised to read me poetry but fell in love with someone else. Now that's a splendid sentence. Someone has soul while I have none. Sigh. Where are the grand ideas? Nowhere at all.
Can I go a single day? I don't think so, no. No.
I'm going to ask for
a. bras with underwire
b. a microphone
Well, alrighty then.
Am I allowed to say bras?
Don't Be Dirty! :D :D shyte arse damn

Sigh. If I could, I would put it all into a little box in the middle of the room. It came without warning! It did! I have no idea, no idea at all and when did it HAPPEN that's my question. And then big mouth! Well, at least I'm a source of some amusement. Only what will I do when it's all over? I will cry :( that's what. Don't wanna.
Hmm. Why so many nice-sounding songs is havin the terrible lyrics. Very tragic. I like the crawl like ivy up my spine, though.
And the coffee. Yes.

I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
(come soon)
Without you here there is less to say.

eurgh

I am
terrified.

how uncomfortable?

How odd it is that I, who read faces as easily as pages and gauge moods as a matter of course, should always be the one left wondering when I want someone to like me.
It's better, I think. I say it, and I believe it. Lately it's less me and more not me. As though I've finally figured out that it really isn't worth too much hassle. And people who run away are not really worth anything at all, no?
But this time I am less insecure. And for that I am grateful.

It's just that...why aren't the people you wait for ever there when you want them?

more personals

This time it will be different, I promise. There's less invested, see? If only there was less told, it would have been nice, but I notice every mention gets a pessimistic twist that never used to be there before.
I just...can't be doing this a fourth time. Or whichever jolly number this is. Funny that I can't organize them. I'd like to say three, but then there was a three, only not exactly, because then there's four and one doesn't fit in with that set of descriptions, but five sort of does.
And he isn't really the last to come. Just the one who lasted the longest.
And there's the in-between-everybody-teased person who came by in the beginning.
Hmmm.
It's all very confusing.
How am I supposed to package them if each one was different?


Oh. :)

:'(

yes i can.
yes i can.

ughughughugh. hmm. didn't i do this already?
durr. what a question. :)

no underwear at all. no, no one is allowed to ask. you may comment if so inclined.