Mini-travelogue

As I was waiting FOREVER for the VIVA bus to leave the Newmarket Station, I had way too much time to think.

"Do I want a different life so that I can be a mother?" I thought. "Do I want a different life at all?" My defence to the protests in my head was "I don't want babies I want my baby."

Some stupid teenagers (I sound so old! "Those damn kids!") got on talking about stupid things with stupid accents. You know the accent I'm talking about, the stupid teenage girl accent. I started repeating a melody with these words: "Her stupid little jacket, and her stupid big boots, her whole outfit could pay my rent."

Then I tried not to be so bitter about the world.

But those girls were pretty stupid.

Then I noticed I was sitting next to someone from my high school who I didn't know really well, but I knew enough about. A very reserved, so-called goth. A girl who hated my born again friends and practiced wicca. Her hair was covering her face as if she were determined to be Alison from the Breakfast Club. I wondered what she ever thought of me, if she knew about me. I hung around a lot with the born again who she hated the most, she must have known something about me...

Her boyfriend--or creepy magical slave--made me a CD once and game me his number. I wondered if she knew. I mostly wondered if she was really a witch!

Then when I got a really good look at her, I realised it wasn't her.

I resigned myself to the fact that no productive thoughts would enter my mind, so I just went to sleep.

Old entry--should have been blogged.

As I wait for my pizza pocket to cook, I look through my most recent journal. This was my favourite part:

"The sun just came out but I was used to the gloom. Suddenly I was struck with the thought to write it. When such thoughts strike me, I begin to slow down. I was just walking with purpose when the sun came out and my walking slowed. If you knew me very well, you'd have known why (but no one knows me that well). The thing is, what will happen to my writing? Will someone read it after I die and say "she wrote beautifully" and then forget about it? Or will it all crumple away in some terrible fire? It almost didn't get written, this thought! But then a new thought struck me: I will forget. And I liked the idea of the sunlit world being new to me after hours of gloom so much that I didnt' want to forget it. But I will.
I'll forget it until I read this again.
I suppose I should take some comfort in that, but I'm suddenly sad for all of the thoughts I didn't write down. I might as well have written them, and then lost them in a fire, because they're gone. Oh well. There was gloom and now there's sun, that's all."


Heehee, I like it because it's silly. I do understand greiving lost thoughts, but it's funny
that I took it so seriously.

Today was so beautiful.

Spectacular

As a first time blogger, I must say I'm a little nervous. But I'm always nervous. And I don't like it anymore. Many times now, I have had a fake orgasm in front of a huge audience and that never made me nervous. So why in real life do I cross my arms, hunch my back and speak quietly?

No more. I choose to be spectacular.

Be happy blogging world, Claire has joined you.....at last!