Cold, cold, cold. Think the window's open.
Something's starting to bother me. The fact that I'm being read, actually. by anyone who's going to misinterpret. Being just about anyone except You. It's like, what's the point of saying all this if no one else is even going to understand it?
I felt whole today, but now I feel empty. What changed?
What ever changes? Just the faces, not the voices.
Aced my pseudoscience exam, definitely had an angel helping on that one.
You know, i was never called "angel" by anyone? James used to call adrian angel. Larry called me "perfect" but i never really understood, thought he was just being sweet and maybe he was, but he once said "why do you think i say that? because i really truly believe it." maybe that's why he hates me so much now, the absurd- reality meeting ideal. poory larry. what a horrible reality i must be, after an ideal. dunno. always felt really "salt of the earth", not anyone's ideal. Erik called me a couple of pet names but i don't really remember. "Honeybunch" once. Mike called me that too. I remember that vividly (as always)- in tartu, him with back to window, me just looking over his shoulder at the view. i loved tartu. the view was so incredible. i would have given anything for the privacy and view tartu had. marion's lucky.
Ah. here it is that it seems i've gotten to the root of the matter. but perhaps this is better saved for another diary. nothing obscure, nothing nefarious. Just not really something you need to see.
Readin'
Listenin' to
Thinkin' about
Most recently I was 
