i'm making up for not updating. soze now you get journal entries from my personal journal. whee...
7/10
"like oh my god, it was dead. it was fucking dead!"
the profanity sounded completely forced, or as though it was only used because she was in the company of people she percieved to be cooler than she is. though, i'll admit, its hard to tell at 4 am, when you're more than half asleep and listening through closed windows and doors and your neighbor is likely drunk or high. or both.
the "like"s and "totally"s went on for a good hour, growing ever louder until some other Lovejoy resident took the initiative and shut that bitch up.
i hate my neighbor. a blonde hipster mutant with big fake looking eyelashes and a penchant for watching shitty old musicals at high volume in the middle of the night. i've been jolted awake by the high pitched wail of an in-love female protagonist on more than one occasion.
she also runs her dishwasher. early in the morning. she lives alone, she DOES'NT need to use her dishwasher. besides, it makes a really obnoxious noise.
i think her blonde hair is a wig.
if i could name her, i'd call her dolly. as in parton. yeah, that fits.
if i were getting laid, or if i ever get some on a regular basis ever again, i'm going to be loud. i'm going to scream obscenities and pound on the wall. every night... three times a night... for hours on end.
maybe i should just do that when i masturbate, 'cause she'll probably move out before i actually get laid.
either way, i hope it really bothers her. who knows, though, dolly might enjoy hearing that sorta' thing?
7/11
its easy to be lovelorn and feel lost. when there is someone you can't have, it hurts. deep. soul pain. heart ache. we all want what we can't have. what we know we can't have, we want most of all. so we hold out hope. become fixated on an unattainable ideal. often, an imperfect ideal.
yeah, i was in love. for a long time. foolishly.
and now you throw it in my face, calously. foolishly.
we had our moments, and even though you choose to ignore that fact & your memory becomes increasingly selective (as a means of making your life easier?), you can't ignore me. can't forget me. and can't subject me to the cruel whims of your own instability.
i was in love, but you don't control me and you haven't got a handle on this situation.
without you, i am a better me.
"it must be difficult to be in love with someone you can never have. so i forgive you"
i'm flabbergasted. yes, it is difficult, and i hope that you know just how much it hurts. i think you do.
it must be hard for you to know how much you hurt her, that beautiful artist girl. it must be difficult knowing that you'll never have her back. it must be agony looking into the mirror each day, into the eyes of the boy who hurt that girl so badly. yeah, i think you know exactly how it feels to love someone you can never have.
and forgiveness is not yours to give.
you're not good enough for me.
...and there are your updates... for the whole 2.343 people who read this journal. off to work...
7/10
"like oh my god, it was dead. it was fucking dead!"
the profanity sounded completely forced, or as though it was only used because she was in the company of people she percieved to be cooler than she is. though, i'll admit, its hard to tell at 4 am, when you're more than half asleep and listening through closed windows and doors and your neighbor is likely drunk or high. or both.
the "like"s and "totally"s went on for a good hour, growing ever louder until some other Lovejoy resident took the initiative and shut that bitch up.
i hate my neighbor. a blonde hipster mutant with big fake looking eyelashes and a penchant for watching shitty old musicals at high volume in the middle of the night. i've been jolted awake by the high pitched wail of an in-love female protagonist on more than one occasion.
she also runs her dishwasher. early in the morning. she lives alone, she DOES'NT need to use her dishwasher. besides, it makes a really obnoxious noise.
i think her blonde hair is a wig.
if i could name her, i'd call her dolly. as in parton. yeah, that fits.
if i were getting laid, or if i ever get some on a regular basis ever again, i'm going to be loud. i'm going to scream obscenities and pound on the wall. every night... three times a night... for hours on end.
maybe i should just do that when i masturbate, 'cause she'll probably move out before i actually get laid.
either way, i hope it really bothers her. who knows, though, dolly might enjoy hearing that sorta' thing?
7/11
its easy to be lovelorn and feel lost. when there is someone you can't have, it hurts. deep. soul pain. heart ache. we all want what we can't have. what we know we can't have, we want most of all. so we hold out hope. become fixated on an unattainable ideal. often, an imperfect ideal.
yeah, i was in love. for a long time. foolishly.
and now you throw it in my face, calously. foolishly.
we had our moments, and even though you choose to ignore that fact & your memory becomes increasingly selective (as a means of making your life easier?), you can't ignore me. can't forget me. and can't subject me to the cruel whims of your own instability.
i was in love, but you don't control me and you haven't got a handle on this situation.
without you, i am a better me.
"it must be difficult to be in love with someone you can never have. so i forgive you"
i'm flabbergasted. yes, it is difficult, and i hope that you know just how much it hurts. i think you do.
it must be hard for you to know how much you hurt her, that beautiful artist girl. it must be difficult knowing that you'll never have her back. it must be agony looking into the mirror each day, into the eyes of the boy who hurt that girl so badly. yeah, i think you know exactly how it feels to love someone you can never have.
and forgiveness is not yours to give.
you're not good enough for me.
...and there are your updates... for the whole 2.343 people who read this journal. off to work...
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
mia:
Hey, look. There are 3. Trauma. poop!
lunacat:
I've been reading blogs for the last 2 hours and finally, you give me something interesting and engaging. Love your style . . . prose that sings a song.