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| This is pathetic. |
| 01.31.04 (11:29 pm) [edit] |
I can imagine him sitting on the toilet, his shoulders slumped, knees together, staring mildly at the ceiling, perhaps wincing slightly every few minutes, otherwise pondering on the meaning of life. Hell, I’d like to imagine that – though it may not seem charming – sometimes I dive up in his musings. Even a vague image, or a reliving of an embarrassing moment would do. Then he’d be thinking of me.
Of course, he would be sitting on the loo. But thinking of me all the same.
^^^ How pathetic is that? Having a crush on a guy who doesn’t know you exist nor cares, wishing he were thinking of you. [i]While on the toilet! Arg! Somewhere, somehow, someone seriously messed up this scruffy little society of ours! Humans! Who needs ‘em? Ha![/i]
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| Merry Christmas, Steve! |
| 01.31.04 (9:32 am) [edit] |
I would like to apologize for not updating any of my fics recently. My pet monster of unfinished homework (Steve) is growing rapidly. Besides that I’m suffering from a bout of terrible writer’s block; however, when its over and the New Year’s bored with throwing me around, I should be back and updating frequently.
I didn’t intend for this to turn into a cliff-hanging chirade, but here we are. If you have a breed of plotbunnies, I could sure use one (or five). Owl me.
On a far happier note, I went to see Peter Pan and The Last Sumerai today. I loved Peter Pan, though perhaps only because I have a crush on the actor (Jeremy, isn’t it?). The Last Sumerai was a big disappointment; the best part was when the names came up at the end.
I’m writing this from my aunts’. She celebrated her 41st Thursday and she’s having her party right now. Most of my cousins are present, which drove me to the PC.
Like cheese?
~yahoos
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| Ah, the so-called “festive seasons” is drawing to an end. |
| 01.03.04 (4:42 am) [edit] |
My Christmas was despicable pleasant. Wish I could rant and rave ‘bout all the shitty presents I got, and all the insane things my relatives did and came up with but, alas, I have nothing of that nature to report back. All in all, it was a pleasant experience, one I shall cherish whence my Campaign Against Christmas is successful. That should be any year now.
One thing that was not pleasant, is New Years. Was I the only sod trapped in my room, glaring at the curtains and breaking out in cold sweat every time some silly generic fuck pops a cracker? I’m thinking that must be how Americans feel all the time, with their mounting fear of terrorism. Relax, folks, my company’s taking a break till autumn!
Only kidding. Wouldn’t want the whole fucking FBI, or M16 or whatever they call their secret service (not that it’s secret) gunning me down as I leave the sanctuary of my house to, per say, get the newspaper. I wouldn’t want to have my guts splattered all over our front porch.
I’m wondering about the SA secret service. It’s either a very secret secret service, so secret that we can only muse whether or not it is in existence, or we don’t have a secret service at all, and gather all intelligence from Die Son, a tabloid. More likely, though, we don’t have a government, just a bunch of veterans and old-timers pretending.
No, wait – we must have a government, because everything that can go wrong with or in a country is going wrong here, and that can only be caused by the body known as the government. Well, now we can rest assured that we’re decidedly screwed for another few years.
All astrologists and psychics and what-call-you are predicting big changes in the political picture for SA. Apparently, somewhere in September this year, the loss of a national figure will delve the country into chaos. Sorry dearest Psychie, but if you haven’t yet noticed, our country is already in chaos. As for the loss…well, if it’s Nelson Mandela I might shoot myself. If that man dies, a whole legacy dies with him.
All morbidity and government issues aside, though – the new year.
Can’t say I’m terrible excited. I am currently in High School, and I’ve dug my own grave by choosing the most difficult subjects there are for this year. All concerning bloody economics. Guess I felt very Gryffindor when I did the choosing. I think I might shoot myself, whether or not Mandela dies this year; I am not a horse for homework and this year – well, I might drown in it, that’s for sure.
Something to look forward to, though, is the new F1 season. Of course Schumi will win – again. It’s almost guaranteed. And if he doesn’t we (the loyal fans) can pin it on his age, or we can simply talk it away with the fact that he’s already done it six times. If he does win, however, the opportunity of being unbearable smug presents itself and, like the saying goes, one should always grab opportunities. Especially if it gives you the chance to trash Monty, RoboRaikkonen, and all the other wannabes that are invading the F1 scene, except of course Fernando. He, at least, is cute.
That concludes my New Year rambling.
Wishing you a decisively very new New Year.
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