Meeting people

The question to ask is what is the point in meeting people. I ask this
while pondering over thoughts of a very cute strait girl. Knowing what
I know, and knowing my issues, I just can't help but feel slightly
pointless in the aspect. Granted you never know how people will react,
but does that warrant the cruelty inert in trying to pursue something
between her and myself?

So what is the point, granted we could
become friends, and much like many of my gal friends now I initially
had a romantic interest, it doesn't alter the inherent question. The
question being what is the point of it all. To my it just seems
pointless and moot, at least now, since I know most women aren't going
to want to deal with my issues. Hell I don't even want to deal with
them half the time.

It hurts being romantic.

That statement alone sums up more than you can imagine.

Melanie told me she longed for more out of her life today, I know the feeling, it is a feeling of a void in your life (at least mine seems to be) that is filled briefly for periods of time with the concept of a single beautiful night with someone.

Mine involves slow dancing and soft mellow light, which seems more and more distant with every passing moment.

I know, I know

I should update more often, if you gander off to the right you can see how my post count has trickled down as the months go on. Well, when I'm not staying up until 4:30 in the morning doing statistics homework, i'm busy trying to survive.

That said, things that make me happy: Shoes. Cliche yes, but hey, it helps. I snagged some great androgynous high tops that I love wearing now, and a killer pair of heels (buy one get one 1/2 off...I had to).  A few days later I was drunk and online (not a good combination for the bank account) and bought the cutest skirt. I'm ..skeptical about fitting into a small, but I have no hips (yet) so hopefully it will fit. I'll see about posting some interesting artifacts once it comes in.

Obligatory things that suck: Testosterone, I've come to think of this substance as a plague upon the minds of humanity. My own in particular. I will be particularly glad when I'm no longer subject to its effects, but as I am, it leads to a typical libido. One which leads me to typical places. Those places take my mind into places it doesn't enjoy being.

I try to stay out/away from those places, but the keyword is try. Anyways, I'm always looking out for my best interest (who isn't) which is why I don't keep guns or knives around me.

But I'm here, and hopefully ever step is one closer to getting this rotten substance out of my body. That said...I still need to work on my voice..which...is coming along quite...slowly....and by slowly, I mean not at all.

To Hell with Creative Expression.

It has been awhile since I've written, and I'm not in the most stable of moods (am I ever?). I just can't seem to muster up the motivation to do anything anymore. I make appointments, and I go to them, I schedule classes, and I go to them. I do the work, I repeat.

I've recently come to discuss the status of two questions, or rather, debate the meaning and implication behind one question, which is really the only true philosophical question worth asking. As others put it "well I'm alive, so now what do I do with my life". My version is "well being alive is optional, so now what do I do with my life". So, I've gone about a search looking for reasons, and well, the question has no true answer that anyone can give me. While I imagine most people are content to let their lives continue on like a piece of meat left out to rot, with no real meaning or purpose, I am less so driven. As I have said before, the end result is all the same, so why bother going through it at all?

But I digress from self-righteous depressed rantings on suicidal ambitions and the futility of life.

The title of this post comes from my lack of ability to express myself. Not in said, written psychological methods, but in creative emotional outlet form. My guitar playing has good technique, but its composition is garbage. Graphic art has never really had the direct emotional release I am looking for, and was never my real strong point. I've thought about creative writing, but while I have some ideas brewing around, I don't have the infrastructure to put them all together, much less in any emotionally relieving form. So what does that leave me with? Well, a beer for one, as it seems to make the world a bit more tolerable. Though my alcoholic brother can attest to that much, it doesn't much solve the problem.

In closing, two quotes.

"How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

 Seem to me all the uses of this world!" - Hamlet, Act I, scene ii, lines 133-138 [Hamlet]

&

"...because no matter what, no matter how much money you make, no matter
how many gowns you bone, no matter how many times you groove like
NOBODY ever grooved before, in a hundred years or so, your dust.
Crumbling soot in a pine box, that our loved ones went all out for so
that you could be, crumbling soot in a pine box" - Highway, Johnny the Fox

..i'm such a perky gal.