Thu, 21 Jun 2007 14:58:07 GMT

I'm not one to write in a diary, I scribble out thoughts on paper here and there, crumble them up and toss them out. I'm sure I'll regret not hanging onto those shreds of paper, like shedding skin of who you are at any given moment. But, I hate diaries, they feel contrived. Written to convince yourself of something. That you actually made your day worthwhile.

So, I hate LJ's as well, but what the fuck, it's a place to collect some daily bullshit and maybe someone will pass through sometimes and skim it, shrug and wander off to the next LJ, which couldn't be any less dull than my own. Not in a poor me sense (just shoot me if I get that morose here) but really, who's average life is all that interesting to an outsider? Rhetorical question, no one is listening. I guess that is why they fill them with glamor shots, polls and attempts at cyber-humor, look at me! I'm pretty, funny, smart...yada.yada.yada.

Today I'm: Reminiscing about the bottle of 1912 Madeira wine I had, reading World War Z, ignoring laundry, boyfriend and Siamese cats.

Le Lis De Velours