I rather like using my (admittedly) numerous journals to bitch about my life, if only to keep me from doing so in real life. I live a rather charmed life, but like all (or at least most) teenagers, my hormones and easily depressive mentality keep me from fully appreciating that fact. Again, even as I try to objectively pick myself apart.
It's a strange feeling, you know? Feeling something, then immediately stepping back and analyzing where it came from, why I'm feeling it, how to stop it; then to slip back into my feelings and ruin all the objectivity I had achieved. I'm not entirely sure I like to feeling of detached-ness it inspires within me, but I find myself disinclined to stop the behavior. Mostly because it would involve a lot of self-discipline that I find myself severely lacking. And, as I delve deeper into the complexities and inanities of my mind, I find my prose becomes much more flowery and eloquent. At least, compared to the usual dribble that spews from my mouth in the presence of others. My speech is always more... detailed and delicate sounding when it is just myself and/or my keyboard. Why this is, I truly have no idea. Maybe because I have no need to worry about whether or not others will understand the more complex words and wording I am wont to use. Perhaps its just because I have the intense need to prove to myself that I am more than the brash (and possibly crass) girl I seem to come across as to most people. Probably to assure myself that I'm not as stupid as make myself seem to fit in more with my peers.
And now I'm drifting off into things no one wants to here, so we'll (oh, the royal we) keep this journal to a minimum now. Although, I have already defeated that purpose, haven't I? No matter, I shall leave you, my likely invisible and nonexistent readers, to ponder and mock what I have laid out here. Au revoir.
Listening to: Up In The Clouds by Darwin Deez
Reading: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde