I was tagged by Teleute. Its a blog-story started by Rohan. Heres the story, with my bit added in bold, at the end: The blog story. I'm tagging Peg, bcz she said she had fun doing the other one I tagged her into :)
My limit was supposed to be one line, but I overran it. Could'nt help it, as usual! Why do all my transgressions find me holding up this little balloon above my head? It's either this one, or "I didnt realise".
It's a nasty blue-black-purple day. Like the mean reds with a little less of the anger and little more of the w-t-f-does-it-matter-anyway thrown in. I was excited this morning, after I came back from my run. Its my birthday on the 10th and I dont belive I'll be 30!!! I feel like I'll just wake up and be grown up, come Thursday!
There must have been a leak somewhere, though, cz all the pink air was gone by noon, leaving me deflated and defeated. Its reading the papers, I think, that does it. Someone still hasnt come back to work. Ill! Eloped? Evil.
How does it matter anyway? I'm out of words. Or rather, I am out of things to say. Or rather rather, I'm out of PC things to say.
Sometimes, I get so angry with the world and everyone in it. Why cant people just let people be. Just bcz they are different? Anyway, whats the point? It will all go up in smoke. 40,000 people! And you are classifying and justifying. Is someones pain any easier to watch bcz he deserved it? 40,000 people. I dont blv its not even causing a stir! And now this! They are showing endless programs and documentaries on them on BBC. Will it help? I dunno. Please god let it help. Please god, let something help. Anyway, I dont want to talk abt this.
I'm on a Byron trip again. The first thing I learnt about Stockbridge, when I moved in was that, he was born here. The God of Brooding Verse. I'm reading his letters to Shelley. Incidentally, I could never get over the fact that he wrote that silly poem (she walks) as well. I have nothing against the poem, but its just, 'did he who make the tiger make thee'? I can never decide which part of Childe I like best, but this comes close:
Yet must I think less wildly: I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
In its own eddy boiling and o'er-wrought,
A whirling gulf of fantasy and flame:
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late!
Yet am I chang'd; though still enough the same
In strength to bear what time cannot abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.
Sometimes when I read his writing, I feel like I could never write again. (And if that one word were ... but its not)
The song in my head: Teach your children well. To someone who made me feel she was there, love you, sweetie. Thank you for being a friend. I'm missing a certain someone so much today, that I've been chirping like madness. The best friend, that I've ever had (The Queen)
I finally put up a post at the Calcutta blog! Someone there reminded me of this post and I hunted it out again.
Originally Posted at Prerona.