so, the computer i was holding this on was reformatted, so what i've got is the unedited version pulled out of chatlogs and put into my notebook. its been a while since we wrote, and this part is kinda iffy [might end up deleted and replaced or severely edited] regardless though, here goes. [edit:the purple part is not random, it's intentional-this is the writing in the journal. the journal should have margins on both sides to help differentiate between it and the text, but its too much work to do that here XD] Oh, 1 more thing. I'd appreciate comments or suggestions on this stuff. encouragement or tell me it sucks XD I see 90 views, but no comments on some of these, I wanna know what those viewers thought : /
At first, it was difficult. I didn't know where to start. It was a flashback to those free writes in grade shool where you were graded on what randomness you could spill coherently off your pen and into a book while the clock ticked away (tick-tock, tick-tock). My mind was bursting with ideas, thoughts, emotions, questions; what had I that was worthy of being the first imperfection on this flawless white page with its symetrical blue lining? With great effort I touched my pen down and imbedded my name and the date. The absurdity of this struck me. What was this, a school assignement? Did I ever expect this to be read? Did I want to be identifyable with whatever nonsense and insanity I was bound to put in here? Did it matter at all? I tried to ignore these swarming thoughts and proceded [sp?].
I am alone. Not isolated physically, but alone just the same. I have nobody to tlak to, so this journal is my substitute to human contact. How healthy that may be, I don't know. I don't particularly care. I need a place to allow an output of analysis of the world, of myself. This world is a grey place that i hope to convince color onto. I don't want to become a zombie, invisible phantom I am now. I suppose this will record my day to day. My observations, my thoughts. Perhaps names of a replacesment canidate for this sorry excuse of a diary which with I suppose I am conversing now. Does paper somehow respond? Is there a way to ask questionss and have them answered? Gain opionions? This is insanity to think, but hopefully it will be a place to drain my frustration of an overflowing traffic of thoughts. There may be no reinforcement, no retribution, no answers; this will suffice for a time though. If I drain enough frustration perhaps I will find less monotony in the world. I will have clear enough thoughts to comprehend color...
I stopped for a moment to think, but found myself panicing [sp?] instead. I looked at the clock, which proved I had been writing at this lonely cafe bench for nearly an hour. It would be another close shot at the bus. I shoved my notebook and pen into my bag, and dashed out the door, hoping I wouldn't be too late. On the bright side, I had no cofee to spill on myself this time.
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