Take your time. Thank you for everything you do for me, and thank you for letting me be a part of your kids’ lives. I did not go through and re-read anything. It’s all angst. I recommend not reading very much at a time.
I often long for the solitude I once felt when writing to my dear elljay.
I feel the longing often, yet seldom do I log in.
You are the one friend I've had who's posted in an alarming while--and so recently, it's almost comical, compared to all the rest.
Like I ever even had friends--yet I almost would prefer that I could go back to a time, when all I had was "friends" on lj.
I miss the solitude. I miss the boyhood meanderings of tiny profile pics and intrigue at the insights into another's mind. I miss the freeform writing. The wiseass puns left for only those other wiseasses to pick up on.
These days, time is short. Attention is short, too. So I work with what little I have. I fritter away all my words, all my charm and devilry into the countless corners of tablets and journals, and pads of papers,...into diaries and notebooks, and sticky notes, in real life, and littering the virtual desktop of how many different computers..wandering words written atop one another, like footsteps crisscrossing a space, long-paced, to and from
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I often long for the solitude I once felt when writing to my dear elljay.
I feel the longing often, yet seldom do I log in.
You are the one friend I've had who's posted in an alarming while--and so recently, it's almost comical, compared to all the rest.
Like I ever even had friends--yet I almost would prefer that I could go back to a time, when all I had was "friends" on lj.
I miss the solitude. I miss the boyhood meanderings of tiny profile pics and intrigue at the insights into another's mind. I miss the freeform writing. The wiseass puns left for only those other wiseasses to pick up on.
These days, time is short. Attention is short, too. So I work with what little I have. I fritter away all my words, all my charm and devilry into the countless corners of tablets and journals, and pads of papers,...into diaries and notebooks, and sticky notes, in real life, and littering the virtual desktop of how many different computers..wandering words written atop one another, like footsteps crisscrossing a space, long-paced, to and from ( ... )
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