Wednesday, September 18, 2002
I'm not sick anymore. well. I was going to write something that would have scared the dickens out of you yesterday. I had just read a book by L'Engle and I was in this seriously scary, thoughtful, and just strange mood. I was thinking about life and death and how cheap, shallow, fake, and yet very complex people are. it was really something. I typed it up on Word and maybe i'll finish it later, when I'm in that mood again.
I'm so concited. And i really am. I think I'm so smart, that I don't need anything. I'm full to the top with miles-deep bubbles of pride. For all they are is bubbles. They pop and then another grows to replace it quickly enough. They don't even do anything. They are completely useless.
but wait- If they're completely useless, than why do i cry when one pops, and why do i hang and hang on to them as tho they were actually solid?
-in-that-mood-once-more(as if you couldn't tell)-Rose
I'm so concited. And i really am. I think I'm so smart, that I don't need anything. I'm full to the top with miles-deep bubbles of pride. For all they are is bubbles. They pop and then another grows to replace it quickly enough. They don't even do anything. They are completely useless.
but wait- If they're completely useless, than why do i cry when one pops, and why do i hang and hang on to them as tho they were actually solid?
-in-that-mood-once-more(as if you couldn't tell)-Rose
