it's 12:49 am, on September 17, 2001 - latin love.

~

I now have too many stories about boybands.

I want to say something about OZ; I want to try and explain why I'm so bitter in the night times and so easy going during the day.

I saw David Usher in concert yesterday night; St. Lawrence River live. He seemed happier in person than the song calls for. He is perfect, sublime. My feet hurt all through it, until he started crooning the words I knew.

Some how, that takes on more weight than it should.

I'm hoping the hot water will be on tomorrow morning. I don't like the lukewarm reception of the shower stall when the tank's not ready to receive me.

~*~

It's too hot in my room. The window is open, and still it's really really hot. I can't escape the heat.

I have a headache tonight.

I should finish that Roswell story some time soon; I should write more about flooding in the Oasis. I should write something that isn't fic, for chrissake. How can I write reality like this. All the words are stale; day old bread. I'm only nineteen, but I know better than to write the things that people have already said.

But disa, you say. Everything has been said.

Rumi knew this. I owe claire forever, because she gave me him.

I was reading him on the bus today, and feeling nauseous, because as we know, I get carsick when I read.

I haven't written or studied any latin in a very long time.

True love is self-destructive. I love destructively: amo calamitosus. Loving destroys myself: amata me caedo.

It's okay; don't need to say it.

~

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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