findings from room excavation

"I think assholes emit some sort of high pitched squeal that force my entire conscious to become hopelessly attracted to them. Namely, grumpy asians who write yards of beautiful prose about their love life being a piece of shit, yet play videogames all day long. One would think my persistence pays off, but unfortunately, it just adds up in one-word answers via AIM...

... and me, sitting slumped infront of my monitor, questioning my fleeting emtions towards a boy whose whole heart needs more defrosting than Alaska itself."


I save fragments of things I write in hopes that when I read them again in the future, I'll note that the differences between past and present are for the better. That, or realize nothing's changed and promptly hang myself. WHATEV!

I've been throwing out TONS of stuff from both my room and personal life, which really in the end amounts to a moderately-sized landfill full of miscellaneous crap. However, it's always the little pieces of paper containing the scribbled emotions of the moment that I can't bring myself to throw away. I always think that they'll be a treasure to someone else eons later, when I'll only exist in whatever is I leave behind.*

Right now I am overloaded on fish tacos and beans, David is half-awake playing Animal Cross ing on his DS (watching him doze off as he holds the stylus, hearing tiny high-pitched squeaky noises eminating from the game), and grandma is asleep in her room.

I haven't had a good run in a while; my love-handles jiggle in agreement.











* a moderately-sized landfill full of miscellaneous crap