People who have too much time on their hands, and who use this time to send you stoopid things on stoopid face book and cram up your profile page with these stoopid, embarrassing things, PISS ME OFF! One of these days I'm gonna get rid of them or write something mean on their damn wall.

sigh

14th January, Year of the Nerd.

Elest is planning her escape, while trying to stay entertained by trivial things like oomphing up her flat with new Creature Speakers (they was cheap!) and orderring lots of books, then waiting for them to arrive every day.
Miyavi sounds good on the Creature. (I'm still gonna marry him by the way)
What else sounds good on the Creature is One Republic's soundtrack to the Year of the Nerd.

Life is a little dissapointing really. I feel like one of Murakami's protagonists most the time. Just going about my buisness, doing mundane things, indulgently, as though indulging solely in the act of doing them. Processing it all with an overtly animated and observant inner voice, that keeps yapping away at me like it was the narrator and I wanted to listen. All by my lonesome.
And while all this is going on, in the back of my mind is: Pixy, my girl, this world is bigger than you can ever imagine, even with your increadibly wild imagination. Remember always, that you are often seeing out of your little worm universe, from which things may often appear shit, or just simply not make sense. This time next year, you will not be here.

And then I wonder though, this time next year, where will I be? where do I want to be? what do I want for my life? and then it hits me: I'm not actually looking forward to anything any more.

We do not believe in falling in love; getting to know someone; trusting. We do not believe in surrounding ourselves; having children and a family. We observe couples on the tube or the queue at Sainsburys and think: Damn, are you in for a shiKKt time mate, and if you're not, then what are you and which human person's body have you snatched?
We no longer feel a need, or desire for such things. And if any such thing drops a hint on our horizon, we turn and run in the opposite direction, because, I'll be quite frank: we are scared to death.
And then, what's left? Fame? Fortune? Pshaw.
How lonely and futile is the lot of man.

And why should I not be ok?