So I'm sitting here moking an herbal cigarette (it's not a real one, and it's not maryJ. It's legal, trust me). And I'm relaxing have too many days worth of stress... and I remember that I haven't bothered touching this thing in a month of Sundays.
Then as I login, I remember why.
Sometimes I just don't have anything to say. My life's trials and tribulations would become boring after awhile, no matter how unique a spin I may put on it.
Shit in a pretty box is still shit.
But other times... other times there are so many things happening both within and out of my mind that I can't. You ever try catching the wind? That's what it's like trying to get this chaos into some semblence of order and put it down in a form that can be universally read.
It's just impossible at times.
I still can't. Every thing that's happened during my absence is still a but of jargon and garbage jumbled up in my brain. I want to try and sort it out, yet at the same time, I want to do what any sane person does with their trash and just dump it.
Maybe I will.
Excuse me, I'm going back to my cigarette. (Herbal... legal...)
Comments: 1 sigh
Gen! Gen, Gen, Gen Gen, Gen!!
::GLOMP::
. . . !
Calm now.
Actually I've been having the same problem. (I'd rather just forget about stuff than take it out and analyze it--and unlock whatever vault of emotions it caused) My journal has become a place to get away from it. Which is probably why I've been absent for days because I've got nothing to say.
I've found that it's much easier on the mind to escape into fiction (one's own or another's) where you can slip into some other person's mind and just forget it all. Heck, maybe that's why I started reading and writing in the first place-- and why I'm a sucker for a happy ending.
I started out with a point. I know I did. *sigh*
I missed you, though. And I'm glad you're back. Although, next time I'll try harder not to drown you in waves of worry.
::GLOMP::
( 2:20 p.m. )