7 December 2013
I am writing this before the day’s exercise arrives at my inbox, and hoping that tomorrow will be better. I am not feeling too well, and have spent most of the day in bed, reading poetry and fan fiction. If there ever was a more unlikely pairing, let me know. But both have managed to turn me into a puddle of the feels, and I think the best course for me tonight is to just lie down and listen to music and try not to cry myself to sleep.
There are other reasons as to why I feel this way but I’m not articulate enough to share them.
I want to eat an apple.
I tried to continue with my collage but the only thing I’ve accomplished so far is cut out the word ‘BE’ from an entrepreneur magazine.
I am sad about Nelson Mandela’s passing, but don’t know how to convey what he meant to me without sounding trite.
When I grow up and have a house, I will find a corner or invent a room or whatever, where there’s a fort that I could hide in. It could be a tent. Or a cocoon. Or maybe I’ll just wrap myself in a blanket and roll towards one side of a wall and stay there, like an abandoned burrito.
Last night I didn’t have dinner, but found myself with a big bowl of soup around eleven pm.
I have discovered that there might be a part of me that wants to cuddle up to every person she meets and just say love me love me love me love me please god love me. Thankfully I think I have managed to keep her suppressed.
I have also experienced firsthand what deceptively flippant means.
My face feels hot.
I was wondering why I didn’t become a librarian. That would’ve probably solved a lot of things.