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a short pouting, procrastinating moment
2004-12-01 @ 12:30 p.m.
So, I'm still sitting here on my ass wasting time playing on my computer and trying to figure out my diary. I keep getting error messages. Another time perhaps. I need to get to my art class.
I'm listening to Morrissey--whiny, English singers seem to know what pain feels like. They've loved and lost and still crave, long for something else. I feel that way much of the time, and I am still trying to mend my life and others' wounds.
Tori is now on; she's so beautiful, and I love her on the piano. Such painful memories I have attached to her--taking to see Carissa to see her when she was drunk and high made me sad. When I'm sad I listen to her, and when Michael and I broke up I listened to her.
I'm sad. I need a hug.
Sara, "Though I've tried; I've fallen; I've sunk so low; I've tried; I messed up better I should know; so don't come around here tell me 'i told you so'....all they turned their heads and pretend they don't see."
Dido--I will down with this ship. I won't put my hands up and surrender. There will be no white flag above my door. I am in love and always will be....I caused so much trouble, I can understand why you can't talk with me again.
Music says it so much better. I'm going to listen to some REM to feel better and lift my spirits. I'm going to get going. Felicia Stipe? That's cinnamon, that's hollywood....
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