I sit here, my torn plaid pants growing warm under a stubborn laptop. Maybe it's really all about stubborn eyelids. Last night I couldn't sleep. Tonight I'm wide awake. Score two for those damn sheep that can't stand to be counted. Score 0 for me. Actually, can I give myself 10 gold stars for all that I've accomplished today? I'm pretty damn proud (My room has stayed beautifully organized and bed made, I've gotten ahead in homework, showed up to work on time and got the final CT edits finished before curfew. Sounds lame and simplistic, but feeling this calm about everything is a once-in-a-life-time experience for me).
Enjoying all those warm and fuzzy feelings? Because there they go--chased off by my jumbled thoughts. I could type them, but then [he'd see] [she'd see] [they'd see] [ze'd see] [everyoneandyourmammawouldsee]. Why do I even have a blog if I can't write about how I feel? Except dammit, I think that's the problem. You have to know it to write it, or at least isn't that what they say?
And maybe it's a moral dilemma. Maybe it's just fancy thoughts in my head. Or perhaps it's just irrelavent. Maybe you're just irrelavent. They're all so irrelavent. If that's the case, then why are my thoughts so jumbled?
Screw this. I'm going to go catch some sheep.
*Title taken from The Beatles' "I Am the Walrus" lyrics
I have a document on my desktop called "Rambles." I date stamp it every time I start something new, but just because I have urges to write just to get stuff out, I've found having one place for these ramblings has been helpful.
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