i know i made a post really recently, but i'm making another one. it's 9:45 pm and i went to bed an hour ago out of pure boredom. i've got my window open because it's been raining and i can't stand not hearing the rain when it's happening. it smells like... i don't even know what. rain and dirt and that smell that asphalt gives off when it's wet and green growing things. it's dark outside. but anyway, it's one of those nights that keeps reminding me of things out of the blue. books i've read and poetry and the way the smell of cigarette smoke lingers in your nostrils and clings to clothing. i know i shouldn't romanticize cigarettes so much, but i like the way they smell, okay? and it's not like i can actually smoke them anyway. my shitty fucking lungs would pitch a fit. and i wish somebody was here. not just over the internet or on the phone, but a person i can look at and talk with and tell all the things that pop into my head that make no sense. i just want a friend.

daffodils, Lyn-Z, the void, reversal of fortune

sooooooooo...

hi. not dead. sick, tired, not dead.

went to England! and Scotland!

here is what i learned:

• i have a really really bad sense of direction
• traveling is a great lesson in how not to give a shit what others think of you
• always pack extra meds
• make sure to get a roommate whom you don't loathe.
• Doc Martins are excellent shoes for traveling (provided you have sufficient sock coverage)
• be prepared for 80% of the people you meet to hate you on sight
• the British love daffodils.

the daffodil thing is really amazing, though. seriously, they just grow everywhere. in parks, by statue, at the side of the road, these bright yellow splotches of color, stark against the somewhat muted background caused by years of stormy weather and smog.

on a different note, i want to be Lyn-Z Way when i grow up. (holyfuckshe'ssofuckingcoollikehawdoesanybodylikeheractuallyexistgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh)

on a different different note, i am really, really sick. again. fuck. i feel like my brownie is about to mutiny. stay down, you delicious bastard.

it's recently occurred to me that there has never been anybody i could completely share with. well, except here, but i can only say as much as i do here because i can pretend nobody's listening. it sounds bad, i know, but this doesn't feel like talking to anyone. this is just a shout into the void, 1's and 0's that get hurled into the ever-expanding network of people all trying to shout their bit the loudest. someone could hear me, but most people look right past. it's like screaming off a rooftop. your average passerby is just too used to the noise to notice one little addition.

oh fuck.

the brownie mutinied.

not nearly as good the second time around.

fuck this.

i'm going to bed.