Wed, Jan. 7
... Whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways
I have to write a monologue tonight. It was supposed to be finished weeks ago, but I didn't get it done. But now, I really have a lot to do in terms of my showcase. Including write this monologue.
The thing is, I've had it in my head since summer; I just haven't put it on paper and worked out all the finer details yet. I suppose I should get on that.
I'm looking for a specific entry that I wrote a few years ago, and I just can't seem to find it. But I just found it, so that bit of information is now obsolete and pointless, but I'm going to leave it here anyways.
I woke up this morning in pain, so I slept through my first class this morning, which ended up (along with my second class) being cancelled anyways, so yay for me. I didn't have to come to school until 2:30 for dance. Bonus for me.
At any rate, I should be able to get a lot done tonight. Hopefully, anyways. And I borrowed Moulin Rouge from Laura the other night, so that should provide a few hours of entertainment one of these days. I haven't watched that movie in ages, although Logan and I did have our own little sing-along with the soundtrack a while back.
How pointless. I'll write something more later, because there's a lot on my mind; I just need some more time to process it into coherent words, sentences, and paragraphs.
I wish people would update their diaries when I want to know what's going on in their heads and don't feel like asking. What a bad friend I am, but sometimes, I'd just rather read it without the crap. And without the hassle of asking, having a conversation, and trying to figure out what they mean.
Of course, who really, actually writes in a diary without crap? Come on. We all do it; no one writes 100% honestly in something as accessible as the internet. Hell, I don't even always write 100% honestly in my paper journals that no one else reads. There's just something about being totally honest with myself that makes things come into focus too sharply and too quickly. If I don't write it, maybe it'll stay not real for just a few more days. Just a few--that's all I want. But as soon as I put it into words, that illusion is gone.
One year ago today: I don't shop compulsively, though, and I'm definitely not wanting to be associated in any way, shape, or form with most of the high school kids that I see coming through the mall. It's just that now I have more friends who work here, so I'll come and hang out at their stores/kiosks (especially on slow nights) and talk to them. Shhh. Don't tell their bosses.
infinite || abyss
posted at 5:03 p.m.
