I had a good idea for a blog post earlier. At least I think I did. I don't think it would have been as good on screen as in my head, though.

It's friday.

I suppose I shall feel all empty inside during the weekend. And when it's over I shall be sad.

That's not a good attitude.

Well, I'm tired.

That's no excuse for a lapse in

What?

...

Pandora isn't playing the song I want to hear. I don't know the name. I just heard it once when I was organizing papers.

...

I feel like pacing. Maybe it's the music. Maybe it's the beat of the t.v. in the other room. My sentences are boring. I want them to flow, to link hands with one another and glide through the story. They kind of skip-shuffle and crouch awkwardly on the page.

...

Blah.

I might as well make it an even 30 posts.

Lost and insecure...
You found me...
You found me...
Lying on the floor...
Surrounded, surrounded...

I can't think of much. I'm quoting song lyrics as if this were my facebook status. But it's not, because I don't want some of my "friends" to know what I'm feeling. It's not that I don't like them. It's just that they requested and I didn't want to reject it, even though we never speak in real life.

Anyways, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about food with long shelf lives. See, food like that may not be appealing when compared with chocolate cake or ice cream, but they also don't spoil when you take them out of the refrigerator. They can sit on the shelf for years, patiently waiting for someone to notice them. And they usually don't take up too much space. Especially dehydrated fruit. I'm sure there was a grammar mistake somewhere.

I decided that The Fray is my choice of music when I feel alone. I guess I just like his voice. Especially in You Found Me.

This blogging thing is kinda fun, too. Since nobody reads it, it's like talking to my stuffed animals, or speaking to an empty room. And I'm not pausing every few seconds to make sure that there is no one listening. Or if my family isn't home, that there isn't some creeper that's lurking behind the door.

I don't think my writing is getting any better, though. And I don't think I'm developing much of a voice. I wish I could remember more big words. I have to look up words at least 5 times before they become vaguely familiar enough to constantly stick to my brain. Like esoteric. First I saw someone use that word in a facebook comment, and I looked it up. Then I forgot about it. Later, I remembered that there was this word that meant exclusive or something secret to a group or something like that, and I scoured the web with possible synonyms for this word until I found it. And forgot it again. Then I looked it up a few more times when I experienced that panicky feeling that meant I'd forgotten it again. But now I know: esoteric=intended or understood by only a particular group. According to the first definition on Yahoo! dictionaries.

My happiness depends on the amount of time that my friends take to eat dinner.

Well, sorta. That's all.

I couldn't wait to get home, back to my computer. I was composing this in my head in the car. Definetely not my best, but maybe I'll edit this later.

So you know when you’re doing something that you’ve done for a long time, something that seems routine, like doing homework or playing piano, and then you realize that next to everyone else, you just epically fail? Yeah. That’s me.

I out, and I was irritable and stressed, because break is almost over and so was the deadline for my homework. Then I looked up and saw the sky. It was…like baby’s skin, except the color of pink cotton candy that’s been in the sun too long. Except the baby’s skin was scarred and pitted, and the scars shimmered golden like twisted tissue.

So now I’m a horrible person because I envisioned a scarred, pink baby in the sky. But if you think about it figuratively, emotionlessly, then you can see that it kinda makes sense. This is a time of rebirth, a new beginning, according to a lot of people. Thus the baby. Maybe we carry the marks of our “past lives,” but the wounds have long since been healed. Maybe not skillfully, maybe not without the passage of time, or only because time has piled on so much that it is forced to heal, but it is healed. The scars will be forever with us. They will mark our skin and perhaps twinge before a rainstorm. But for now, we are babies, reborn, trusting, innocent. Who would hurt a baby?

So that’s it, then. I just wanted to tell you about the sunset. Maybe the same image is painted on the sky every day. But maybe you know, I rarely stray from the corner that is my office, and even more rarely leave my house. So for me, at least, the idea of the sun setting and the sky turning violet and pink and golden is a mind boggling, beautiful thing. Same to a baby. Happy New Year.

1-4 update:

Dad took a picture!

Smells

Well, well, what do you know? I actually posted. I feel like retching onto my computer, though.

1) Someone sprayed Axe all over the house
2) To counteract the Axe, I opened this bottle of "Lavender Scent". It's odor more closely resembled "Baby Wipes".
3) A couple of fat sea cucumbers are currently marinating in a pot of water in the kitchen. Venture near, and I find myself bombarded with a very strange odor.

It's really not that pleasant.

Nose aside, Happy New Year!
Yup. 2010. Yay! Now on to less discussed topics.

Like New Years' Resolutions :D

I have none. Do you?

--Update-- 10:28
I think I'm getting a rash from the lavendar scent.

-11:06--
Opened a bottle of Aloe Vera. Feel much better now.

Beep. Beep.

You gasp and draw in a breath of air. My smiling face fills the entirety of your vision.
"Hello!"
"Hello..." you're puzzled, you have a faint throbbing headache over your left eyebrow, and my chipper voice has only made you more irritable.
"It's okay!" I babble, "I revived you, my dear, cuddly blog!" I smother you in a big hug.
You manage to whisper "help me," to the bemused nurse in the doorway. Then you pass out.

See, this is why second person generally doesn't work. Unless I'm mistaken, you're not passed out, and you certainly haven't been in a coma. But I hope you enjoyed the bubbly me, because I don't think it's going to happen again.

I said I wouldn't name names in this blog, but I guess the person who I'm refering to will usually know that I'm talking about him/her. I won't be long, because I really should be working on that story whose owner's fake name I can't remember. But yeah, that story.

So why did I decide to blog after a month and a half?
I had a conversation with a friend who I haven't talked to in a very long while that cheered me up very much, and so I felt like writing.

So yeah. I won't chronicle my winter holidays here on this blog.
1. because after obsessively recounting every detail on paper of certain events for a few years, I've noticed that it is very tedious and it leaves very little room for creative impulse. Plus I try to write everything that happened in chronological order along with any side thoughts I had on the event, which then connects to another thought/memory, and another, and another, and then my journal entry is a hopeless mass of pages. Eventually I'll get the hang of chronicling, I hope. I've always wanted to document life. Except maybe not quite as a dusty irritable old person who lives in stacks of his [yes, his is gramatically correct.] own writing. I'd keep a cat or two. And occasionally play Apples to Apples or Mao with a friend.

See, I was talking about reviving my blog, and I was supposed to list the reasons why I wouldn't document the occurences of winter break. And then now I'm suddenly talking about cats and Mao.

Anyways, I'll probably refer to the winter holidays later anyways. And this blog here isn't for documenting [that's what my journal is for...and all the loose leafy papers that I may or may not have organized and stacked under my desk.] It's for ranting. It's for impulse. It's for blogging. :D

I think I'll end here. Eventually I'll try to do a blog entry without backspacing ever. I'll strikeout everything I want to get rid of, so it'll be like...well, you know what I mean, right?

10:04, signing out.
Oh, and happy New Decade.