11:20 PM

Mood: Stoic, Gloomy
Listening to: Afraid, not Scared
Reading: Dostoevsky
Eating: Blueberries and whipped cream


I've come the conclusion that I only have one true phobia, and that is of being scared. I mean, really now, what else is there to fear except fear itself? Its an infolding, self-fulfilling subject, really.
Its difficult to return to a state of what one was at some former point of time and conscientiously accept it emotionally. There are alot of times when I believe that everything was a little glass ball that I have been looking into. I could watch what transpired and share laughter or disappointment with those inside; but participate sufficiently? Never.
I don't like to display my emotions on a dinner table for everyone to see though. Alot of times I'm silent simply because I'm thinking, or better yet, have come to the conclusion that I really don't have much to say. To think, yes, everybody has plenty that they can think, or to do, but what can anyone really ever say? I'll talk when I'm around alot of people though. I'll entertain. The show must go on, however a farce it might be.
There has been plenty of times when I've thought--no...believed--that things were going to turn out alright and that life has always been just one big adventure for me. I'm convinced that that has been the child within who, with bright eyes on a Sunday morning, makes dorky grins to everyone who isn't smiling and whose reply to the problems of life is just "Smile, life's one happy game." I'm sure that I'll continue to think so.
I haven't always been that way though. There are other times when I'm brooding over simply nothing...when I become spiteful...when I become a snake. The pessimist in me aroused, I will sit and smirk at a towel in the bathroom, thinking nothing, doing nothing; just staring in hopes that the little glass bowl of life will pass me by.

I burnt both my thumbs today while making a marvelous bowl of lentils. Not a bad burn, just between the first knuckle and nail on both of them, and good enough to not look red but still tingle. I want to call my left leg Sherbert, the other one Rob.

Uh.... been writing poetry again. Nothing special yet, though there is one or two that look promising. Considering how my skill dwindled towards the end of last year though I look at any such steps, however small, with extreme optimism. When their done I'll post them up, but until then, goodnight.