Sleeping is like being dead without commitment.
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'96. I love books, music and Justin Bieber. May the odds be ever in your favor. x

The Festivity
20111023 @ Sunday, October 23, 2011
Okay. Right now I'm sitting at home, and actually feeling lonely. So I've decided to compile a list of 'confessions'. Not 'confession' like I'm guilty of having lied previously or anything, just a list of things how I feel right now. Because I'm a little bit sleepy, and a little sad, and also because I feel like it.


Number 1: Right now, I want a hug. 
I'm one of those people that value personal space. It weirds me out if anyone comes closer than 30 centimetres to me, and I've only started casually hugging people in the last year or so. But these days I'd really just like to be held. I'm not depressed (I don't think), and nothing has really happened to trigger this, I'm just feeling a little neglected, and it'd be nice to have some human contact. The problem is, I don't exactly invite the opportunities for this to happen. I'll be standing in a group of people, and one will say goodbye, and hug everyone in the group in turn. Then they get to me. If we've only recently just met, they hesitate, and then maybe smile/wave/shake hands, saying bye. If we know each other sort of, it's the same, minus the hesitation. It get's to me now. I wish people would ignore the ice-demeanor I seem to exude. 


Number 2: I feel like these blog posts are getting me nowhere.
I'm not really one of those people that hate themselves. I'm fairly happy with most aspects of my life. I'm pretty okay with my weight, I'm not self-conscious about being shorter than most. I don't call myself ugly. But this blog, this part of me that writes, I hate. I like the idea of getting into writing, but everything that comes out of my head seems to look as though a whiny, egotistical 13 year-old wrote it. Every time I write a post, I feel proud for something like 2 minutes. Then it all goes to shit. Why did I say that? Who gives a shit? Why would you use that font? Who do you think you are, making everything an undefinable shade of blue? Where did you think you were going with that story? You didn't even make the point you originally thought of! Delete it. Delete ALL of it. No, don't make another whiny little post. But I think it would be weak to delete everything.


Number 3: I'm convinced I'm halfway to ending up with Alzheimer's.
When I was in grade 7, someone gave me a journal for my birthday. I've written in it ever since then, purely because I'm convinced that I'll forget half of my life, and this way I have actual evidence for life that I've lived. It might spark a memory or something. And, if I fail to remember anything, at least it will give me something to read and go "Wow, I went to a few concerts, that must have been fun!" But seriously, my memory is poor with some aspects. My short term memory? Not so great. I make sure I have a calendar every year, so that I'm aware of what day of the week it is. All events are written into said calendar, where it is hung by my bed. 

If you've gotten this far, congratulations! I'm probably almost done. 
I feel like I have more to say, but I can't remember what it would have been. 


You know what? I'll give it a little more oomph. 

 



A Small Slice of Adorableness
Sunday, October 23, 2011
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