Ouch. Again.
I have an infuriatingly infinite capacity for faith in people who appear to have, or are believed to have little or no potential.
I'll believe in you always.
People lie. And bend truths. And avoid truths. And turn things around because of unwanted feelings of guilt. And don't accept responsibility. And give up too quickly. And give in too easily. Do people really want the things they believe they want anymore?
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Oops!
There goes my cool, up over my head. Oh My!
Well, dignity is diminished along with my BMI, what with sweating a fair bit in this heat.
Nearly got sacked on Thursday, but managed to hang on to my 5 month temporary contract, so shall continue to be non-plussed by the bossman.
In other news... *giggle*
Monday, June 05, 2006
Put the Prozac DOWN... and the Seroxat...
According to the Daily Mail (oracle of all that is good and just and generally untrue), we're not depressed, but simply stressed!...which will sometimes lead to one becoming depressed.
It's all too easy nowadays, our lives have little meaning, surviving isn't so hard (comparitively, I'll let you offer up your own comparisons), and our ambitions seem rather silly when held next to those of our Grandparents/elders/forebearers/whatever. [insert details of the difficulties of living in war-torn/post-war ravaged europe here]
But essentially it seems fairly true; when we lack something of substance to complain about or to point the finger at for the reason why we feel less than the greatness we're told we should always feel, since we've never had it so good, we delve into the minutiae of our psyche, analysing and dismantling ourselves til we have a suitable facade with which we may convincingly dissemble our supposedly lack-lustre appearance with.
So like your Grandmother might say, shut up and get on with it. Life sucks (there are some sparkly moments throughout the experience) The ethereal happy contented part comes when you're dead.
It's all too easy nowadays, our lives have little meaning, surviving isn't so hard (comparitively, I'll let you offer up your own comparisons), and our ambitions seem rather silly when held next to those of our Grandparents/elders/forebearers/whatever. [insert details of the difficulties of living in war-torn/post-war ravaged europe here]
But essentially it seems fairly true; when we lack something of substance to complain about or to point the finger at for the reason why we feel less than the greatness we're told we should always feel, since we've never had it so good, we delve into the minutiae of our psyche, analysing and dismantling ourselves til we have a suitable facade with which we may convincingly dissemble our supposedly lack-lustre appearance with.
So like your Grandmother might say, shut up and get on with it. Life sucks (there are some sparkly moments throughout the experience) The ethereal happy contented part comes when you're dead.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Short Men
Should be avoided, since the affliction which is their diminuative stature makes it easier for them to attempt to actively finger a passing (taller) female, rather than the standard bum-brush/grab/spank.
Obviously, they're not used to being confronted, as most people would be risking spinal injury to look down at them. But occasionally one will take this risk, only to have something along the lines of "You can't afford me anyway" squeaked at them from somewhere near the floor.
Surely simple manners would get such a boy further than an inferiority complex? Or did I miss something.
Obviously, they're not used to being confronted, as most people would be risking spinal injury to look down at them. But occasionally one will take this risk, only to have something along the lines of "You can't afford me anyway" squeaked at them from somewhere near the floor.
Surely simple manners would get such a boy further than an inferiority complex? Or did I miss something.
Monday, April 24, 2006
8.07 Boston Express
I listen to
Warm rivers trickle through tin
As I feel
Warm rivers move beneath my skin
During this moment of broken sleep
Waiting to fall listlessly
Back onto the heap
Of dreams that await me
I'm Bleeding
Alone
Thrust waking into a morning that did not expect me
Warm rivers trickle through tin
As I feel
Warm rivers move beneath my skin
During this moment of broken sleep
Waiting to fall listlessly
Back onto the heap
Of dreams that await me
I'm Bleeding
Alone
Thrust waking into a morning that did not expect me
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)