Gabby (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ladyoflorien) wrote2005-07-24 03:04 am
ladyoflorien) wrote2005-07-24 03:04 am
(no subject)
Brian Regan was hysterical. Seeing him live tonight was the brief moment of euphoria in an otherwise sh**ty day.
Why is it impossible for Gabby to go to the beach in the summertime? Why? Why? To be so close to the ocean on a night like tonight with the moon hanging high and bright and quite nearly full in a blue blanket sky and NOT actually go sit in the sand... it destroys a piece of me. Quite literally the best word for it. It murders something in my soul and leaves my heart screaming 'rape'. I haven't been to the ocean in the summertime in ... 4 years? I don't even remember. It seems like such an act of ill-respect to one of the things that nearly took my soul but mercifully granted me life again. I shouldn't expect anyone to understand that.
Playing DDR after you've suffered from the Headache of Mordor for 6 hours is not fun. Especially when you can't hear anything, because then you can't see OR hear. It kinda makes you feel the way you do right before you pass out... which, unless you pass out often, is kinda hard to describe. buh, I'm getting naseaus just thinking about it.
It's funny how a person like me can so strongly crave respect, and feel so utterly crushed by its absence. I shouldn't be surprised.
Gleet, you moron. The word you were thinking of was 'gleet,' not 'gleed.' Good job, you dumb f***.
I'm frozen to the bone right now. Long pjs, a fleece jacket, and a cup of hot chocolate later and I'm still trembling. I've probably made myself ill.
By the by, playing Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 23 with the skin of your middle and index fingers from your first knuckle to your second completely rubbed off hurts like hell. But playing that song always hurts like hell, because Frederic Chopin was out. of. his. mind.
Damn it, don't we have any bloody gauze in this house?
Everyone I know was invited to a grad party tomorrow and I wasn't, but the house is being shown at 4 and again at 5, so I need to find someplace to be for a few hours. Why are all the book stores so bloody far away? I don't have a clue on where I could go, and with gas prices as they are I don't want to drive around aimlessly. Sometimes life just keeps kicking after you're down and bloody until it's damn near sure you're dead.
Yeah, the Wright's are home.
Piano. Kitten. Thick covers. Meds. Sleep.
Why is it impossible for Gabby to go to the beach in the summertime? Why? Why? To be so close to the ocean on a night like tonight with the moon hanging high and bright and quite nearly full in a blue blanket sky and NOT actually go sit in the sand... it destroys a piece of me. Quite literally the best word for it. It murders something in my soul and leaves my heart screaming 'rape'. I haven't been to the ocean in the summertime in ... 4 years? I don't even remember. It seems like such an act of ill-respect to one of the things that nearly took my soul but mercifully granted me life again. I shouldn't expect anyone to understand that.
Playing DDR after you've suffered from the Headache of Mordor for 6 hours is not fun. Especially when you can't hear anything, because then you can't see OR hear. It kinda makes you feel the way you do right before you pass out... which, unless you pass out often, is kinda hard to describe. buh, I'm getting naseaus just thinking about it.
It's funny how a person like me can so strongly crave respect, and feel so utterly crushed by its absence. I shouldn't be surprised.
Gleet, you moron. The word you were thinking of was 'gleet,' not 'gleed.' Good job, you dumb f***.
I'm frozen to the bone right now. Long pjs, a fleece jacket, and a cup of hot chocolate later and I'm still trembling. I've probably made myself ill.
By the by, playing Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 23 with the skin of your middle and index fingers from your first knuckle to your second completely rubbed off hurts like hell. But playing that song always hurts like hell, because Frederic Chopin was out. of. his. mind.
Damn it, don't we have any bloody gauze in this house?
Everyone I know was invited to a grad party tomorrow and I wasn't, but the house is being shown at 4 and again at 5, so I need to find someplace to be for a few hours. Why are all the book stores so bloody far away? I don't have a clue on where I could go, and with gas prices as they are I don't want to drive around aimlessly. Sometimes life just keeps kicking after you're down and bloody until it's damn near sure you're dead.
Yeah, the Wright's are home.
Piano. Kitten. Thick covers. Meds. Sleep.
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(Anonymous) 2005-07-25 11:21 pm (UTC)(link)-Always, Allia
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i regret that there is nothing whatsoever i could do.
i would apologize, but there is nothing to apologize for.
i love you. don't you dare forget that. i'd be genuinely angry with you if you ever forgot that.
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Plus, I had the worst day EVA and wasn't thinking. It's different when you're typing than when you're talking out loud. C'mon, like you've never THOUGHT those words when you were really mad! What did you call Zaq today? A "Jack A?" Yeah. Yeah. You know how it is.
I'm sorry. :( I hate myself.
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