Now Playing: The over-sized, meticulously sorted drabble list

This is a list of my 'literary' entries, (if you can call them that.) Sorted out by story. The list will be updated with every addition. It will remain at the top of my journal until I damn well decide different.
( List Beneath )

So, yeah. I don't update this nifty little eljay thing, with it's still most fantabulous layout anymore. But I made a post 'round christmas, and now up crops a new one, 'bout a month later. I figured out that's the thing with finales, they'r never that final. The real thing is when we just drift off, never knowing our last comment's the last one ( Read more... )

There was something to be said for waiting eons for the right roll of dice to come around ( Read more... )

You don't have to go home, but you can't. Stay. Here.I love this screenname. I have for many years. There will never be another I love quite as much ( Read more... )

A live journal post isn't bery romantic. I know. I guess I'm not very good at that kind of thing ( Read more... )

Said I'd be there by three. You could have given me five minutes. I called at 303 to make sure I hadnt missed your call.

I'm fucking pissed. Alot.

the point was not that i need to feel good about myself, or that i need to pick my friends better. i do feel good about myself, at least as much as anybody does, but these are not the reasons for the past, now private post, either. perhaps it should have been private to begin with, but i have always been of the opinion that if it can not be seen ( Read more... )

Fuck. FUCK.

Tonight at work was fucking awful, and I come home to some sort of fucking tsunami that utterly DESTROYED two precious books of mine, along with a host of other things, and left permenant damange to my hardwood floor. And I dont know how to save them at ALL, and it's too late to run to anyone I know and ask ( Read more... )

No. I'm just tired.

I don't care who you are, don't call me. I don't want to hear from you.

If I didn't need some alone time before, now chica's here on Sunday, and I'm just not gonna get it.

More bullshit is not what I need right now.

No one's home.

No fuckin' way. No fuckin' how.

Misery is such a boring story, really. The death of parents, the mindless hate of a thousand people who will never know you, the shame of running away. The lonliness of a freakish existance. These are cliche things ( Read more... )