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I'm at work and it sucks. I'm supposed to go out tonight but I don't feel like it. I don't really feel like doing much of anything.


Posted via m.livejournal.com.

I will be updating more often, perhaps starting tonight.

I miss you as an outlet. I miss you as an escape.

xxx

-L

Dec. 28th, 2009

Sorry if i De-Friended you by accident.
I'm a pot head and I can't remember how to tie shoes.

Comment & I'll add you back if you want to continue reading.

Dec. 28th, 2009

I said no god damn it.

Everything is different, but yet the same - trying to get everything under control.

I was proposed to - I said yes, but again, things needs to change before any I do's are exchanged.

I enrolled back in university, but my anxiety is really ripping me to shit - so I kind of fucked up a bit.

I'm still losing weight, slowly but surely. Trying to find happiness in this 24th year of life.

I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I might be back soon - I think I will - need to vent, without people knowing.

Love you. Surely.

- Stolen from Vik, seemed... approperiate.

Takeout.

Tweezing a choice bit of bamboo shoot from the stir fry, Wendy says, "Would you still love me if you didn't know me?"
"What do you mean?" Says Dick. "What are you talking about?" He grimly grips his chopsticks, scoops up a clod of rice and ferries it half way to his mouth before dumping it in his lap.
"I saw a show today," says Wendy. "On tv." Wendy sees a lot of shows on tv these days, and reads a lot of books. Officially, it's understood that Wendy's suffered some sort of emotional breakdown, that she's refusing to seek help or join a support group, but that Dick - her husband of three years - is being wonderful about it anyway. A treasure.
"It was about people who'd been hit on the head," says Wendy, running a hand through her straggle of aburn hair. "Hard. People who went into comas and then came back, but couldn't remember three or four or five years of their lives. They'd look at their husbands or wives and says, you know, "Who are you?"
"Forget this," says Dick. He sets aside his chopsticks - the wooden kind that come in a single piece with takeout orders, and need to be snapped like a wishbone - and picks up a fork.
"Some of them," says Wendy, poking at a baby corncob at the bottom of a white cardboard box, "some of them are sticking together. They're keeping their vows. Some of them are separating because one of them isn't the same anymore, isn't actually the person who took the vow."
"I wonder if maybe you should start doing stuff a bit," says Dick. "You know, just going out for coffee or something with somebody every once in awhile."
Wendy says, "Which kind would we be?"
"Pardon?" says Dick.
"If one of us were different, which kind of couple would we be? The kind of couple that says together or the kind of couple that breaks up?"
"You tell me," says Dick. Then, on second thought, "The kind of couple that stays together."
"Because the thing is Dick, I am different."
"Naw," says Dick, shaking his head."Naw, you're still my Wendykins."
"Actually no," said Wendy. "No I'm not your Wendykins. I'm Chiyono, a medieval Buddhist nun."
Dick looks up aburptly from the wreckage of his dinner.
"I've just achieved enlightenment," says his wife. "Just now, just today. I've been studying under Bukko of Engaku for quite awhile. Sorry I didn't mention it - I didn't want to worry you. This afternoon I finally tore through the veil of illusion. I'm working on a little poem about it - would you like to hear it?"
"Um yeah," says Dick. "Yeah, sure. Of course."
"It's no big deal," she says. She makes a series of incomprerhensible noises - throaty, almost nasal, like the Orientals he's overheard in the cafeterial at work. "Oh, sorry," she says, giggling. Here;

At last the bottom fell out.
No more water in the pail.
No more moon in the water."

She shrugs, smiles shyly. "Do you like it?"
"Chiyono," he says slowly, "Chi-yo-no," rolling the sounds between his tongue and palate, three little berries burst.

Jan. 19th, 2009


this one's for the haters:


"this is for cockass , who has probably swallered so many that is why they call cock ass, being a low life that you must be to write a commenet about a professional Elvis impersonator, I would truely love to see you do it to other Elvis personators, we will all get together and kick you ass cock ass we know who you are. so keep your rude commenet sto your self and stick them up your ass cock ass. we can meet you face to face one day assssssssssssssssss "
Someone just walked up to me and handed me 2 tickets to the NIN concert tonight for free.
It's in the first section - they said they thought I'd want them.

This sort of thing never happens to me.

I have no one to go with. That's the only kicker.
Kind of a stark realization that you're severely disliked when you can't even give away a free ticket (with the only catch being that they must be in your company for 3 consecutive hours).

Regardless I'm going to have a good time.
if i ever said i was never sure of anything,
i lied.

i'm sure of one thing.

i know who my friends are - because they're there, and have been for years.

saying thank you doesn't do it justice, but it's all i can muster right now.

You know who you are.

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