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sugaraindrop
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Name: LiSa
Birthday: 2/22/1984
Gender: Female
Interests: ballet. tennis. pool. basketball. reading refreshingly cynical literary critiques. i stopped writing for awhile.
Expertise: I've been fully legally trained.
Occupation: They're all under me now.
Message: message me
Member Since:
10/3/2003
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| bored and falling asleep. worst combination.
makes no sense why i'm so tired, i slept about 7 hours last night.
CONTACT LENSES again? argh
maybe.
one month more of drowning with things i'm supposed to finish
then i move
then
i figure out whether i sink or swim. | | |
| Sorry for the disappearance yet again... i shall vow to write a lot more frequently!
First things first,
Joe - sorry i didn't answer! Well, i think i NEED the certainty, and according to my best friend (JIAT, come testify to this, you've said it more times than i can count!) i need the certainty to live, but i need the mystery to keep me going. Mystery doesn't ever get anywhere, but it just lifts you out of the mire of flat-lining everyday. a few irregular blips in the ECG make you pay a bit more attention to life on the whole, every once in awhile yeah?
Here and now -
I had such strange dreams last night. They seemed to be continuations of old memories, fabrications (i'm assuming they're made up by my mind, rather than actually close-to-the-truth premonitions?) of what could be going on with these people today, though long left behind.
Long weekend -
FIVE DAYS MORE! I'm literally counting down. Yet there's so little time to plan what i'm going to have to do before it arrives... argh :(
WORK -
workworkwork. Deadline monday for G+E policy, Rob's on leave and i'm going to be panicking on London time... more calls on assurance budgets on more impossible timezones. Help. Thankfully the annoying interim figures are done. I don't DO figures... i only work with words... that was already way out of my league. I'm guessing there's more to come? I hope not.
CHICKENSOUP
errr... to the rescue of chicken soup now. it's complicated.
my eyes are closing.
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| no staking of claims when you hit rock bottom
single thought process from seeming (note: ALLEGED ONLY) regret
to the realisation of the correct choice having been made
think, my playlist:
(tattoo) it's not about taking sides
when i looked in the mirror, didn't deliver
it hurt enough to think that i could stop, admit that i'm wrong
and then change my mind
but on an afterthought, and it's a brilliant practical afterthought, at that
I have to move on and leave you behind
(big girls don't cry) fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they?
and i'm gonna miss you like a child misses that blanket
but i've gotta get a move on with my life
it's time to be a big girl now
and big girls don't cry
(better in time) was it all that easy, to just put aside your feelings?
even though i really loved you, i'm gonna smile cos i deserve to -
thought i couldn't live without you
it's gonna hurt when it heals too
it'll all get better in time.
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| i shall reward myself (no, not for any feat i've accomplished, but i just want to reward myself for how life is turning out --- feels like an emotional celebration is needed!) with a lychee martini the very next time i get to a bar.
life has zoomed on, the beauties in existence have come and some have gone (i continue to miss just the very few)
yet those vital pieces of the puzzle have remained (amid work, work, and once you gave me all that work when i had started, very marginally bright eyed, maybe brighter when you understood,)
if only to stay in slumber for awhile, they have come to life at intervals (jump, jumping everywhere, i nearly couldn't count)
never too certainly, but each and every time, better than the last. (hello again, it's been awhile, again)
oh yes, (cheers)
absolutely beautiful.
the benefit of years is something that no child can ever contest...
for the mysteries that the years bring, and layer, and bury, into a life
is absolutely
beautiful.
the dream has brought itself to life.
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| For pure literary appreciation, I re-publish this poem, written a month or so ago.
It was written for you, you of the failed leap years.
My Audience, please read the words and feel as you would for a movie, a film that in an hour will end and you must leave the theatre without further ado. Do not linger, do not allow the thoughts to capture more than a cursory moment in your life --- for I too must not do so any longer.
Return to Sender
she backed out of the golden door
"here i will stand until the dust settles,
please speak to me, don't stop."
their gazes hold for a moment -
He takes a step towards her
with outreached hand and single sweep,
the golden door swings shut
sealing her out, himself in.
daylight vanishes, only silence remains.
she picks up a pen with shaking hands
writing letters filled with words, words, words
slipping them piece by piece beneath the door
day after day,
hour on hour
sheet after sheet,
until the pen ran dry
still she wrote, scratching imprints on paper
inkless carvings etched in vain
But down the stairs, in the hall
the postman daily rang the bell
the pile of letters grew each day
all stamped "Return to Sender".
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