despite what the title of this blog post may lead you to believe, i'm not creeped out by anything. i just couldn't think of anything overly creative to say. i blame that on the hour of which i have decided to post. not that anyone really reads this blog anyways, save for the creator and well, i know what point i was trying to make.
so i guess my scapegoating on the time of day was for naught and i'm just rambling.
reuinted with my lap top in my room, listening to the soft sounds of chris martin telling me it's ok to get what i want, but not what i need, i drift into this precarious dream space where i have a tendency to write. a lot. but since i have no paper near me, minus a lurking text book (which, naturally, i should be reading, but haven't even looked at since i brought it up here with the very best of intentions [of course]) i find myself tap tap tapping away in the dark of my bedroom.

yet, now that i'm here, i find i have nothing really to write.

this happens often. this writers block, or as i'm likening it to is 'writers blue balls'-- the action in which you know the necessary release to attain comfort, yet you abstain, or cannot produce worthy enough results to ammend the situation.
i have this overwhelming desire to simply write half the time, but it's never about anything interesting. when i get a good idea in my head, it never seems to pan out on the paper the exact way i imagined it and then i get all disheartened and well, i don't go back to it.

i'm speaking of a specific project, something i now realize is a bit daunting. the project was started years ago, when i thought i could actually get it done and now, not so much. but i've also grown as a writer and continually revise the older parts. it's a frustrating process, believe you me. truth be told, i often find solace in writing educational papers that have no personal input since i don't have to express all of my cacophony of emotions and thoughts. it's all jumbles anyhow.

-- also, something's not right. there's this feeling i get every once in a while and that screams somethings amiss. i couldn't begin to tell you what it is, i just know there's something wrong.
it's probably better that i don't try to explain this feeling, since the last time i tried to describe what 'emotion' my gut was feeling it came out as a phil colins song (but it was true, i could feel it coming through the air that night, but the analogy was... lackluster to be gentle). then i tried to liken the same feeling to that part in lion king where simba and nalah are playfully nipping at each other and being all flirty. again, a poor analogy for something that was completely different. i didn't know how else to explain that particular feeling, especially to someone who doesn't understand the whole situation that would have produced that feeling.
then again, there shouldn't be that feeling in the first place. god damn you tungsten carbide!! stupid fate.
sometimes, i think it's karma that dictates what happens in my life, not fate. i've done something terrible therefore the apple must be present in the garden of good and evil. i shant eat it, never. but it looks so tempting. one bite couldn't hurt?

this is exactly why no one reads it. because i divulge so much and so little... it's a tough choice. not be so vague or continue to beat around the bush? i'm going to stay vague because on the off-chance blah blah blah... plus, again i'm the only one who reads this so i feel safe in knowing that should i ever figure it out, it will be aces.

the time has finally claimed me as a victim; my lids are drooping sufficiently. it could also be the fact i'm listening to dopey john mayer. god those lucious lips could serenade me to sleep every night of the week. adieu.

b; old enough to know better; attached.
college student of historical events, future educator. canadienne. i like to read, but i don't do it enough. i run. i like zombies. i'm obsessed with all things batman, except not batfleck. i'm a terrible video game player, but i'm getting better through attrition. i can play piano pretty good, though. the sound of city streets soothes me, but i love the silence of the forest. curious stargazer.

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lainey | tfln | afp
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despite what the title of this blog post may lead you to believe, i'm not creeped out by anything. i just couldn't think of anything overly creative to say. i blame that on the hour of which i have decided to post. not that anyone really reads this blog anyways, save for the creator and well, i know what point i was trying to make.
so i guess my scapegoating on the time of day was for naught and i'm just rambling.
reuinted with my lap top in my room, listening to the soft sounds of chris martin telling me it's ok to get what i want, but not what i need, i drift into this precarious dream space where i have a tendency to write. a lot. but since i have no paper near me, minus a lurking text book (which, naturally, i should be reading, but haven't even looked at since i brought it up here with the very best of intentions [of course]) i find myself tap tap tapping away in the dark of my bedroom.

yet, now that i'm here, i find i have nothing really to write.

this happens often. this writers block, or as i'm likening it to is 'writers blue balls'-- the action in which you know the necessary release to attain comfort, yet you abstain, or cannot produce worthy enough results to ammend the situation.
i have this overwhelming desire to simply write half the time, but it's never about anything interesting. when i get a good idea in my head, it never seems to pan out on the paper the exact way i imagined it and then i get all disheartened and well, i don't go back to it.

i'm speaking of a specific project, something i now realize is a bit daunting. the project was started years ago, when i thought i could actually get it done and now, not so much. but i've also grown as a writer and continually revise the older parts. it's a frustrating process, believe you me. truth be told, i often find solace in writing educational papers that have no personal input since i don't have to express all of my cacophony of emotions and thoughts. it's all jumbles anyhow.

-- also, something's not right. there's this feeling i get every once in a while and that screams somethings amiss. i couldn't begin to tell you what it is, i just know there's something wrong.
it's probably better that i don't try to explain this feeling, since the last time i tried to describe what 'emotion' my gut was feeling it came out as a phil colins song (but it was true, i could feel it coming through the air that night, but the analogy was... lackluster to be gentle). then i tried to liken the same feeling to that part in lion king where simba and nalah are playfully nipping at each other and being all flirty. again, a poor analogy for something that was completely different. i didn't know how else to explain that particular feeling, especially to someone who doesn't understand the whole situation that would have produced that feeling.
then again, there shouldn't be that feeling in the first place. god damn you tungsten carbide!! stupid fate.
sometimes, i think it's karma that dictates what happens in my life, not fate. i've done something terrible therefore the apple must be present in the garden of good and evil. i shant eat it, never. but it looks so tempting. one bite couldn't hurt?

this is exactly why no one reads it. because i divulge so much and so little... it's a tough choice. not be so vague or continue to beat around the bush? i'm going to stay vague because on the off-chance blah blah blah... plus, again i'm the only one who reads this so i feel safe in knowing that should i ever figure it out, it will be aces.

the time has finally claimed me as a victim; my lids are drooping sufficiently. it could also be the fact i'm listening to dopey john mayer. god those lucious lips could serenade me to sleep every night of the week. adieu.