take your mentality, step up to reality.
Mar. 7th, 2005 11:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enamouredSigh. I am a masochist.
Dillon (the guy in my speech class that I am crushing on) looks a little bit like Sean Faris. Even down to the mole. Except Dillon's hair is longer.
What's scary is that he fits The List. Okay, breathe, I am not thinking about serious commitment and stuff and I've yet to pick up on any signs of him digging me the way I dig him, so hear me out. He plays an instrument. He's funny. He is not shady. He's funny. He's easy to talk to. We have somewhat simular tastes in music. He's tall enough. And he has crooked bottom teeth--something completely random that I find strangely endearing.
I am not getting invested. I am NOT getting invested. I AM NOT GETTING INVESTED. I WILL NOT GET INVESTED.
How come I end up thinking about particularly frightening things before going to sleep? Last night I was up a full hour longer than I needed to be, thinking about dying and other equally scary things. I know I'm not the only one, but come on. The last thing I want to think about before I doze off is about how futile life is and all that jazz.
Yahoo is ten years old. Dude. It makes me think that sometime in the future, people will ask you about your first experience with the internet. Mine was with a message board on Prodigy, on my dad's laptop with an orange screen. I don't remember the year, but I was like seven or eight, because I was reading the Baby-Sitters Club books by then, and I was reading a BSC board. Then came spring break of '99, and me discovering the plethora of Backstreet Boys fan sites, and fan fiction, and it's all gone horribly downhill since.
Dillon (the guy in my speech class that I am crushing on) looks a little bit like Sean Faris. Even down to the mole. Except Dillon's hair is longer.
What's scary is that he fits The List. Okay, breathe, I am not thinking about serious commitment and stuff and I've yet to pick up on any signs of him digging me the way I dig him, so hear me out. He plays an instrument. He's funny. He is not shady. He's funny. He's easy to talk to. We have somewhat simular tastes in music. He's tall enough. And he has crooked bottom teeth--something completely random that I find strangely endearing.
I am not getting invested. I am NOT getting invested. I AM NOT GETTING INVESTED. I WILL NOT GET INVESTED.
How come I end up thinking about particularly frightening things before going to sleep? Last night I was up a full hour longer than I needed to be, thinking about dying and other equally scary things. I know I'm not the only one, but come on. The last thing I want to think about before I doze off is about how futile life is and all that jazz.
Yahoo is ten years old. Dude. It makes me think that sometime in the future, people will ask you about your first experience with the internet. Mine was with a message board on Prodigy, on my dad's laptop with an orange screen. I don't remember the year, but I was like seven or eight, because I was reading the Baby-Sitters Club books by then, and I was reading a BSC board. Then came spring break of '99, and me discovering the plethora of Backstreet Boys fan sites, and fan fiction, and it's all gone horribly downhill since.
