I can gamble like this because if it sucks I'll just trash the entry and start over.
So already this person's user name is Zoloft Girl.
I GOT A GOOD FEELING.
Douchey response to the Writer's Block?
Check (thank you for helping me out, Livejournal)
Massive blocks of self indulgent text no one gives a shit where she speaks like her words have the weight of a thousand emperors?
WE'RE IN FLAVOR COUNTRY, GENTLEMEN.
If forced to give up one, which would you choose: love, friendship, or family?
Today's writer's block. This is a stupid question.
Well let's logic this one out.
On second thought this is stupid so let's just skip it all together.
If you're lucky, and you have the right circumstances surrounding you when they come into your life, they're all the same thing. So none. To give up one is to give up all. I'm not giving this up. It's one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
Well Machiavelli teaches if you have a choice between love and fear you should always pick fear, and a prince doesn't have friends-- only vassals and enemies (sometimes in the same person) so I guess the only logical answer in dystopia Machiavelli land is to keep family. Ditch friendship.
I start sentences with the word "I."
I do this a lot. Too much, sometimes.
I tend to focus on myself more than others. I fear this makes me selfish, a bitch, uncaring, cruel.
A blogger who thinks of herself too often?
Stop the presses immediately.
True, when the immediate people in my life tell me they're about to do something, I think about how it'll affect me. When they tell me how they're feeling, I think of something I may have done to cause it, and what, if anything, I can do to heighten it, making it better whether they're feeling good or bad.
Already this is getting abstract and I'm sure I don't care.
I do this because I'm trying to figure myself out. Not who I am, because I know who I am. Why I react the way I react, why I prefer blue over green, why I use the words I use, why I speak so quirkily, why I don't have certain things, why certain people are or are not beneficial in my life, why I think what I think, why I feel the way I feel, the process I go through when thinking or feeling, why I see the colours I see when I hear a violin, the exact ways in which my brain malfunctions, the relationship between my mind and body, why I like savoury things, and so on and so fourth. This is also why I relentlessly take any in-depth personality quizzes I can find. I want to know what house I'd be in at Hogwarts, I want to know my MBTI type, I want to know what character I'm the most like, I want to know which crest I have, I want to know the colour of my personality, I want to know who I write like, and I want to know why. I know my natal chart by heart.
HOLY SHIT.
Also are you surprised she's a fan of Harry Potter (she references Hogwarts quiz which is a Harry Potter thing)? I'm not.
Let's make some other predictions while we're here: she likes fanfiction, she wants to be a writer or an actress or maybe an artist and she's really a special misunderstood snowflake.
Jesus Christ this entry goes on for like 15 paragraphs. I'm skipping it.
So, it's 2012. It's scary to begin a new year, for once. Last year was easily the best year of my life. For the first time in a very long time, I was happy for the bulk of it.
Many parts of it were painful. Intensely so. That's the only way anyone can learn, though. By ripping open old wounds that are stitched closed, but haven't even begun to heal.
That's really douchey.
Have you ever read anything that douchey in recent memory?
I can't think of the last time the cold rime of a douche shiver crawled up my spine like this.
Anyway I get the feeling we're in this for the long haul and I doubt seriously we're going to come to any sort of post where she talks about what she likes or what's happening in her life-- it's all going to be what she's feeling.
Feelings are gay, man.
A few days ago, I was talking to Charles about talking about my feelings and insecurities and whatnot. I told him that "I'm trying to be this brave and strong girl," and said something along the lines of not being able to anymore. He looked me in the eye and told me that he's seen me be this strong and brave girl countless times, and that he knows I can do it again.
THE LOT MUST BE SACRIFICED ON THE ALTAR OF COURAGE no wait that's Warhammer.
Which I think is true, even though I don't always believe it. I'm a survivor, I'm a fighter. I endure. I don't give up. I find a way.
Somehow the phrase "I endure" is a lot more convincing when a Dreadnought says it.
I don't want to hear about how you're a survivor or a fighter unless you've been born in war-torn Africa or are a rape or cancer survivor or something. What fight did you win, exactly?
I fell in love, for the first time, at the beginning of the year. I'm in love, and so is he. We've had a real connection from day one, which neither of us had before with anyone in a romantic sense.
Wow, what a dumbass.
Friend, have I not delivered you to wisdom?
And this is what you do with it?
You know they ridiculed Jesus Christ in his time, too.
Could it have really been this easy? My road was filled to the brim with intense loneliness, with obsessive self-reliance, isolation, desolation, and disappointment.
Sounds like the path of the Space Marine.
Only replace "disappointment" with HONOR AND VALOR and there you go.
And I guess replace "intense loneliness" with ZEAL AND FURY.
So, really, only the middle part is close.
I have "daddy issues." We've all heard the term, nearly always used in a derogatory manner, and nearly everyone (especially girls and women) have them to some extent. Mine, in particular, are due to the very simple fact that I've never in my life actually had a Dad.
K.
Seriously, bro, why are you dating this bitch? Have you seen her blog?
If were dating this banshee I'd take one look at this blog, say "nope" and promptly burn anything I own capable of serving as a medium to communicate with her. Phone? Gone. Cellphone? IN PIECES. My computer? A HOLY CONFLAGRATION.
No Dad, no Daddy, no Father, even. Sure, he's been around. Sporadically all my life, only when he wanted to be, and never when I needed him. When around, rare as the time was, he'd make promises. Fantastic promises. None of which he's ever kept. I wanted him to. I wanted him to so badly, once upon a time.
Come on, man. Seriously, you didn't Google this slut's name just to see? What, are you waiting for this surprise later?
Crushed hopes turned to confusion, confusion led to self-loathing, self-loathing led to fury, fury led to resentment, resentment led to hatred, and hatred led to realization. Realization then led to indifference.
Couldn't confusion lead to crushed hopes which then led to self-loathing?
Or couldn't fury lead to self-loathing and then confusion, which then crushed your hopes?
You can't really arrange a group of interchangeable emotions in a linear pattern like that.
Oh I guess you're just retelling what happened.
It took a long time. A lot of wondering and thinking. A hell of a lot of dissection. Which led to the conclusion that he's not willing to change, the past can't be undone, and that nothing whatsoever can be accomplished dwelling and rotting in anger and pain. I crawled out of the sludge and started washing myself off.
You, thinking about yourself?
Hang on let me call the Vatican--
I'm never going to be clean of every speck of grime. I'm not angry anymore. But I am very cruel towards him sometimes. I wish nothing but pain upon him. He's brought it on himself. Suffer the consequences. He deserves infinitely more than he's gotten, and a tenfold beyond infinite agony.
You can't really multiply something that isn't a number.
I'm bitter, now, at times. Not angry. Just bitter. Viciously bitter wouldn't be an understatement.
K. Am I supposed to be impressed?
The bitterness doesn't eat at me. None of my feelings towards him have, really. They didn't hurt me, but they didn't help me, either. When in doubt, go for rising above. I would have sunk eventually. It was just a matter of time. Before it got that far, I made my choice.
Hooo man.
So how about that TERA game, huh?
That shit is going to be the motherfucking bomb-diggity, buddy!
I don't feel much of anything towards him. The bitterness, yes, but it's not a constant feeling. It passes quickly. Only a matter of time before it's gone completely.
I'm better now. I rarely see him, and even then, it's only quickly enough to paste on a feigned smile and get cash from him.
So much for "rising above it", huh?
I mean goddamn.
So. All of a sudden, out of absolutely nowhere, I have this nagging urge to write fanfic.
Yes, called it.
As many of you know, I like to write. What you may not know, unless you feel the same way, in which case, we must invent a secret handshake and spread it far and wide in the writing community, is that I am a writer. I can explain this, and will, if you'd be so kind as to read along. Even if not, fuck you, Imma tell my story, because someone out there will want to read it. Fuck tha' police, in short.
Fuck the police?
No that's my line to you.
Also I swear I didn't read ahead, honest.
Man do I know bints or what?
You have to understand that I didn't really choose this. It chose me.
Talk about your muse.
Come on, you know you want to.
Well I did a quick search through about 40 text walls and didn't come across the word "muse" one single time so I guess good job on that.
Man this is really boring.
I'm going to go do something else with my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment