Sleuth device 

Suspiciousocity

Dear Diary,

I have lately felt suspicious of any one who cares about me.
I spoz in worlds that are considered semi-normal...this is absurd.
But my world is rife with sub-clauses and hintatics.
Fantastical existence precludes practicality.

Confessional on the Soapbox

BAD Mood

Sometimes i wonder if my moods are my own.
If everything i do isn't somehow intertwined with my feelings about other people.

If somehow my moods don't change according to someone else's moods.

They do. Infact after much back and forth I have concluded...that I am infact rather malleable by other people's moods.

Yknow what they say don't let the weather dictate your mood, let your mood dictate the weather...well I'm weather-proof...but people...UGH they get me, everytime.
Everyfuckingtime.

Re-cosmosis

Tumble-Dumbell 


Come one...come one (just barely caught myself that time).

So, i've not been upto no good.
I've been upto no evil. I've been anything but upto my neck in creepy crazy uncreative storms of the unconcious mind.

And yet, it's been anything but no fun.
Anything but in-excitable unjoshing inescapades.

Double negatives so aren't absolutely non-rockable. So absolutely irrollable off the untongue.

In conjunction with my un-spree into the unfun I decided not to un-remodel my unblog blog.

And consequently everything on this non bloody unworthy piece of unsh** pile, has not been frozen. It hasn't been unchanged.
Not at all.
Infact it has been quite the opposite.
It has not infact been disordered.

It remains transformed. So, please feel restrained to not check it out.

For those that are double negatively challenged (aka slow-witted, feeble-minded, comatose, hebetudinous, etc etc)...this blog has undergone changes...some of which were to older enteries too. As I matured I decided to revolutinize somethings and invent words like irrollable.

So if you care or not uncare - feel free to not ungraze thru my varity.

Have not unfun!

Alcohol flossing

Slightly tipsy - still got the halo 

Last night was fun.
I had a rooting good time.
Rootin'. I had one cosmo and bam my stomach exploded in a series of tummy talks which while travelling north to my mouth erupted at the orfice as a series of highly high-pitched giggles.

yes, I was giggling. I could just die.
I'm a grad student and any form of giggling is just plain demeaning. It lowers the hight standards I've set for myself.
I hate to be seen as depraved as an undergrad. Oh Merci! God forbid!
But I regained my sanity and soberiety just a glass of water later.

Moral of the story: Alcohol and chicken strips are a Good thing.
Alcohol on a day-long starved, slightly concave dinner pail is probably asking for it.

Giggles. Man o man. Anything else would've been ok. But giggles.
Well I'll take reprieve in the fact that my date erupted into the male counter part of the giggles...the gaggles. We looked like a couple of drunkies.
We looked fun.

Cheap Buzz

Coco 

I spoz i never mentioned to you, Dearest diary and lone reader, that I have found the cure to the haze that surrounds my brain.
I have stumbled upon the elixir that makes clarity a concept in study yet.
I'm talking about caffeine people(/person)!
CAFFEINE. Oh what sweet hell it is.
Add a dash (oh say a lump or 20) of sugar and you're ready to speed off to the end of the world on a happy breeze or off a cliff of ecstacy, slowly spiralling down back into depression. The key word is slowly.

Coca-cola rocks man.
ROCKS.

I was never even a fan of cola in general...but this recent shift in affections is fully warranted. When a bottle of coke got me out of a jam...and I mean mundo trouble with conceptualizing a scientific treatise...and also secured me a date, that's when i pledged my all and allegiance to this haze-buster.
Cola, darling, I do. I do, everytime.

Now I see what all the fuss is about. Cola wars are completely justified.
Fighting for the deference of a meek consumer, sounds very chivalrious to me.
Fight away my monies obsessed Multis. Fight for my affection. My choice. For I am now a consumer!

House of Mirth

Room 

So my room's a lil small? A lil personality deficient? A lil overstuffed with junk?
So what?
Atleast I don't live with my parents.

Ok maybe if I were to be dead honest about it, small doesn't cover it...ok fine...maybe it's even a lil cramped...nothing wrong with that. I don't see it.

I happen to like it.
Who am I kidding?
I think I wish I liked it. I pay good money for it. i ought to atleast hope to like it.

Who can like a room that despite your arduous tries at making it representative of the meagre personality that you imagine your bosom harbors, is personality-less.
Much like a hotel room. Very impersonal.
A very very brimful suite. Chock full of every imaginable oddity. And un-oddities also.

Bursting at the seams, maybe even.
Packed like pickles. Packed like sardines in here.
Oh man.

Doubting Toms

Some people just don't want to give me the credit.
Sometimes they don't believe that I'm capable of mildly do-able things.
I ought to be disappointed but I am not.
But it's amusing to catch them mid-conversation in a situation where they've hinted a doubt at me.

They'll back track so fast they actually move back in time, if you looked closely enough you'd see George Washington's historical dentures whizz by in the frenzy.


R-E-S-P-E-C-T 

Scientistinctual

A feeling so restless.
It's absurd, this absolute loss of control of my life, that i feel sometimes.
Ennui ennui everywhere and not a rope to tie my neck with.

I feel like i'm falling and falling and there's no end in sight.
And then suddenly it'll be over much like it never happened.

And yet, it does linger in the shadows of my thoughts and my dreams, like a dim fragrance.

I can feel the bottomlessness.
It is abyssmal. Without a bottom part. No lid to cover its ass. Such is loneliness.

Its so easy to succumb to helplessness.
I wish for too many things.
I just want to be either so appealing that it's hard to resist me or so absolutely bold that I care not what people think. Or invisible. Or possess some kind of magic.

Why must I be so utterly confused at all times? it feels like there's a clound around my head.
Why must I be so utterly restrained? like something inside me is chained up and has given up trying to escape.
Why must i always be so scared? and no cause of fear is perceptible.

Why must I always question? Must be the scientist in me.


Science Mmmm 

There's smoke

How personal is a relationship?
How private can it get?
Are we allowed to share our deepest fears and regrets or are we not?
With each other and with friends...is there a line?
Is there a line that dictates whether or not the person knows how exactly you feel about a certain thing or another?
Is that a line of maturity or of solidarity or of privacy?

Jack and Me 

Shot thru the heart

I guess I'm everybody's favorite "crush" girl. Nobody's "IT" girl.
That really sucks. I want to be pursued and yearned after too, like any other quixotic female.


ShotDead