feed Subscribe to feed

it iz late..

Posted in Crazy Wisdom on Sunday, September 22, 2002 at 10:48 pm by flerly.

cable is out, so I am without my beloved end to Sunday night.. Adult Swim.

curse this weather.

So, I am online reading, perusing diet journals, and re-reading the melodrama that is my LJ lately. I come across a post from a “friend” that I was shy to add, but have not regretted adding.Visit her website and share her wonder I don’t know her well enough to add her. She probably laughs at people who are sick enough to just want to read her journal posts out of the blue.

Then I reconsider and think… from what I DO know about this girl, she is the missing member. She is interesting. And tonight.. on cam.. she is making me smile.

Perhaps it’s time to get over my shyness and officially write her to say hello. She did tell me to.. I have her card.


Pulled through you, and drowning in your swirl
Circling, unfolding in your will
I’m going to glide on the winds of your breathing
And alight on your guarded heart
I’m gonna tear all your temples down
I’m on a mission now

I can hear the sounds of some game filtering up from “the cave” where mr james is likewise trying to occupy himself in lieu of adult swim. It is probably Counterstrike, since occasionally I hear cussing and the slam of a fist on the computer desk. Boys have strange methods of stress release…

Me… i’m still zombified. Petrified and putrefied. Head floating about 5 inches off these shoulders, making it the only part of my body feeling no pain. I ache. The amount of pain I still feel after yesterday morning’s workout with the trainer is disheartening. I long for a soak in that bubbly hot tub, but will have to settle for a soak in our little slow-leak bathtub that barely fills enough to hide the body i’m trying to reshape.

Every time a thought of work crosses my mind, I am cringing. Typical Sunday night dread. Always on Friday nights I get carried away in my chat with him and always I have the weekend to mull over every line and every response, then work myself into the dread of actually seeing him in person. I’m so much more witty in writing.

I am terrified (petrified and putrefied) of making an ass of myself in person. I blush. I blush often and inappropriately. It’s a factor of low-self-esteem, I think. People used to tell me it made me seem honest… which translates to they think they could tell if i were lying.

It’s not even eleven. This makes two.. three? two public.. long posts in one long dreary day.

It occurs to me that I only ever record the bad dreams.


No Comments

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post.

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.

Search this blog