7 October 2004
I can be a friend to you
I won't pretend
I'm not interested in breaking your heart
It's not love, no, it's nothing like that
Oh, it's such a delicate thing
Oh, it's such a fragile thing
How the HELL is it already Thursday? I don't exactly know why I feel so busy all the time lately, but I suspect that it may have something to do with my recent tendancy to actually do work at work. Or at least feeling a lot more like an asshole when I am not. It does make for a lot of good feelings when I am checking things in and when I leave work and have been... somewhat... PRODUCTIVE, and the early evening is lovely, and I can drive with the windows down to go hang out with people I really like to see, and/or to somewhere that will feed me delicious things, and/or to my lovely breezy rambling old house.
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Got in a bit of melancholy last night, maybe just due to too much comtemplativity. And too much thinking about being a stupid teenager, and too much inner criticism about the stuff that I still do that is stupid, and other guilt and crapaliciousness that makes me feel bad about myself.
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I am taking off early again from work to see the goddamn Braves, and THEY BETTER WIN, those jerks. I suppose I'll be in a good mood by Friday anyway. And if not, perhaps that would be good for me anyway, to spend a weekend in a solitary funk. I have my own big room to do it in, and a bathroom absolutely made for many hot hot hot lazy afternoon bubble baths.